Greg's House
by SilentLikeAShadow
Summary: A few months after Stacy returns to Mark, she realizes she's pregnant. What if House is the father? Where will this take their relationship? Where will this take ALL his relationships? And what about Cuddy? It's time for House to build his home, and settle secrets and friendships once and for all. A/U, full of drama, romance, angst, laughter and suspense.
1. The News

Stacy slowly turned off the ignition and sat back heavily in her car. She watched the activity in front of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's front door. Automatically, her hand flew up to her chest and gently caressed the crucifix that lay against her chest. Her hand flipped the necklace over, and she twirled it, stroked it; her usual habit when she was scared or nervous or uncertain. She quickly took a sharp intake of air and opened the car door, striding towards the entrance before she could change her mind – again.

Princeton-Plainsboro gave her a bittersweet sensation. Its mixed signals pulsed through the air with each turn Stacy took. She knew the way like the back of her hand, but she went cautiously and warily. There were certain people she didn't want to bump into. She peered out in the hall before walking through it, her eyes sweeping over the faces. Her head pulsed with many thoughts and memories that she strived to ignore. Some made her happy, like a familiar patient getting better. But most made her cringe and feel hopeless. A couple celebrating after getting good news. A staircase leading to the rooftop. She passed by an office space, and she just about lost it. Intense feeling pulsed through the door and enveloped her. Here, House had told her he loved her. And then he'd left her.

She staggered slightly, reaching for her purse for a smoke. She leaned her head heavily against the wall. She had to focus, remember why she came. She straightened with a sigh and her face gradually set into her lawyer's expression. Almost to her destination; she'd make it.

Relief surged through her when she reached the painfully familiar office. She slipped in and closed the blinds before turning and simply standing in the dark space. She expected pain and loss to course through her, but to Stacy's surprise, she only felt numb. It didn't prepare her for the nostalgia that swept over her like the surf pounding over rocks, though.

Nothing had changed or moved, really. Everything was in the same place. The chair in the corner brought memories of stormy nights, where she and House had decided to wait out the blizzards, when she gently felt the fabric. It was his chair, so he'd claim it without contest; his legs sprawled out in front of him. Eventually, she'd sit on the arm and slide into his lap despite his growls and protests, which she'd pointedly ignore. After a while, he'd open up, taking her in his arms and cuddling with her but none the less he'd still be complaining. The wind would pick up and they'd watch the storm, House finally drifting off into silence as the snow whipped around outside. Other days, she'd burst into the office, a wreck after an exceptionally bad case at work. Even smoking hadn't helped her on those occasions. House would be sitting at his desk, either looking over a file or watching TV. At the beginning of their relationship, it was those rare times where he'd stop what he was doing, get up and embrace her, letting her go limp in his arms as they settled into the chair. Stacy would hide her face in his shoulder and let the tears fall, breathing in his familiar comforting scent and feeling safe and protected in his arms.

Pain engulfed her, and she reeled away from the chair, tears of anguish stinging at the back of her eyes. She nearly blindly stumbled into his desk. Blinking, she put a steadying hand on the table, the cold seeping through her fingers like unforgiving ice. She remembered leaning intently into the television screen, knowing the murderer was right behind the door. Just as the girl opened it – Stacy shrieked as House grabbed her shoulder. She whipped around to find him chuckling and she'd be so furious and embarrassed that she'd slap him playfully and turn back around. House would gently soothe her neck with his rough heads as they caressed and ebbed away her tension. She sighed deeply as goosebumps raced across her body and she relaxed, leaning on him. But the desk had seen many more unpleasant memories. She'd slip into his office late at night and give him a coffee or tell him he needed rest, and House would just explode. He'd sneer and his voice would be tinged with so much sarcasm that Stacy would fight to keep her patience. Sometimes, his will to fight for his patient's life would go out and he'd slump with rejection. She'd come around and have to say something brilliant to save the day and he'd make amends. Those blow-ups after a wrong diagnosis didn't often trouble her too much. They were frequent and she'd get used to handling them. What really worried her was when it had seemed his will had died. Those times, she'd then escape to the roof and steal a quick smoke.

Back in the present, Stacy sighed and straightened, glancing around the room and then at the time. Where was House? Impatiently, she crossed the room, anxiously tracing her fingers over the imprint on the glass. _Gregory House, M.D._ She traced it over again and again until it soothed her and calmed her boiling thoughts. She wasn't normally like _this_, so thoughtful and emotional. She pushed the thought away as she moved away from the door.

So many fights had taken place here. Threats would fly across the room, tears would be shed, and fingers would be pointed. They would both stand in the middle of the room, faces inches away and hands barely managing to keep away from each other's throats. One time, he'd been so unbearably insensitive that her rage had boiled over and she'd slapped him _hard_. She just couldn't take it. She playfully slapped him all the time, but this one was different. It had _meaning_, and she didn't regret it. The office immediately fell into silence as shock registered on both faces. House's had contorted into such an expression of pain and rage and even slight sorrow that Stacy couldn't begin to describe or feel the emotions coursing through his thick, stubborn blood. She tried to apologize, and he'd refuse – it was the beginning of the end.

Stacy looked down at her hands in the dark room. The place was just too full of him and his feelings. It even smelled like him. It was unbearable being there, so full of painful and regretted memories. She should leave; this had been a stupid mistake. She just had to accept and come to terms with the past and what it meant for her future. She was due to have a very busy life soon, anyway. And she had Mark… oh, Mark… How'd she explain all this to him?

"What the hell do you want?" House's cold voice pierced the tension, his voice taut and distraught. Slowly, Stacy turned to face him. She was shocked.

He appeared perfectly normal on the outside. No sign of misery or depression. She searched his once familiar blue eyes for an answer, and although his gaze remained firm, it was distant and cold. Grief and ache started chewing at her heart. No doubt he was hiding something. Still, it rubbed her the wrong way. She felt hurt that he hadn't even missed her. Maybe he had a new girl? Painfully, she tried to push the unbearable thought away.

His straightforwardness took her by surprise. She searched for an answer, even if it was just casual small talk. When she failed to find her voice, he limped by her and organized his papers, trying to avoid the awkward tension in the air.

"What kind of case are you working on?" Stacy asked innocently, desperately searching for a way to get to her point and then get the hell out of there. His movements stiffened, then relaxed, and he said in a controlling, even voice, "Give me three good reasons you're here, some good oral sex, and the number of the best hooker you know and _then_ maybe I'll let you know. Until then, get out of my office."

She didn't move, and a ghost of a smile played out on her lips. She was glad to see he was still himself. He'd stopped shuffling through his papers and was staring at her. His head was still tilted downwards and only his gaze had turned on her. It was as cold as ice, unfriendly, and unforgiving. Her whole soul just about gave up.

His voice softened slightly. "Stacy…" he trailed off, and the cold returned to his eyes. "Sorry to cut it short, but I have places to go. People dying all the time, you know." He brushed by her again, but Stacy looped her arm in his, turning him around.

"Greg," she said quietly, finding her voice and strength again. He tilted his head skywards in exasperation, avoiding her gaze. Whenever her voice got like that… Something terrible was in it for him. He remained silent though.

And then it came like a bombshell. "I'm pregnant."


	2. The Reason

**First of all, a huge thanks to my awesome friend HappyDaysAreHereAgain. I have no idea how I'd be able to write all this without her help. This is the first chapter in any of my stories with anything remotely medical in it, so I hope I did okay on it. It was difficult, I must say. I'll be happy if the medical stuff makes even slight sense, but I did do my research. This one goes between many different character's points of view, mainly House, Wilson, Stacy, and Cameron leading the different parts. **

Without skipping a beat, House masked his screaming instincts and heart as he'd always done. It was as easy as breathing to him.

"Congratulations," he said coolly, refusing to look at Stacy's expectant face and managing to shake her off and continue walking. He was nearly at the door, too, when Stacy recovered from her shock at his dull reaction and stepped in between him and his escape.

"That's it? No rejoicing? _Nothing?_ Not even a sarcastic sneer?" She demanded, scrutinizing his face. He shifted and looked around the room, pressing his tongue against the top of his mouth and moving his jaw around as he often did out of habit. He knew what he was in for. He was headed into a deep, personal conversation; the kind of which he hated and was terrible at. On top of that, there was no way he'd _ever_ live through one with Stacy, of all people.

Silence filled the air for a few painstakingly long minutes. Stacy fought hard to control her feelings. She felt like screaming, crying and laughing all at the same time. This had to be just a horrible mistake; just a really, _really_ bad dream. She'd wake up in bed soon enough now that she'd learned her lesson. She'd tell Mark she was pregnant, and they'd celebrate and raise a family together. She'd just have to live without knowing if it was Mark's baby or not.

The seconds ticked on, and dread started forming in the pit of her stomach. This wasn't a dream. It was real, and her life as she'd known it was ending. House would never look at her the same again, and neither would Mark. In a flash, the two men she loved were stripped away from her.

"Oh, God," she whispered, a hand flying up to her throbbing head as she stumbled slightly. House's face immediately showed concern despite the cold look. He dropped his cane and reached out to steady her with both arms.

"You okay?" he said, managing to look into her eyes as he made sure her answer was truthful.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She said as he settled her down into the chair, her legs going limp as she sat down.

"Thanks," She added as he straightened out. A few moments ago, their faces had been inches away, but now House refused to meet her gaze. Suddenly, his pager went off, and House retrieved his cane, grateful for the distraction.

"Like I said before, people dying." He turned to leave and took a few steps before pausing and looking back at her. "Stay here, I'll be back."

She nodded, and he disappeared out the door. Once outside his office and in the hall, House put a steadying hand on the glass, popping a Vicodin into his eager mouth and clearing his thoughts before he strode into the adjacent office where his team was waiting.

"So, who's dying and why?" He said, making his way over to the coffee. His steps seemed uncertain and he faltered slightly. With his back turned to them, the diagnosticians shared a look. There was something off about their boss.

"Uh, well," Cameron started, her gaze gradually turning down to her papers. "39 year-old woman presents with high fever, chills, productive cough and chest pain."

House frowned as he wrote this down on the whiteboard. He stepped back to admire his work, his face set in an intense, thoughtful expression.

"_Bo-ring_. Sounds like bacterial pneumonia to me." He said, turning back to his team.

"She's been vaccinated," Foreman spoke up.

"Vaccinations wear off, they don't assure complete immunity," Chase countered.

"She does have a history of a weak immune system," Cameron agreed, "She's had pneumonia before. Why are your blinds closed?" She asked House curiously.

"Somebody's in there." He shot back at her. "When was she vaccinated?"

"At birth and then again in her early teens." She said before adding, "Who?"

"Your mom." He said without skipping a beat. "What vaccines?"

"Pneumovax and Prevnar 13, why do you appear so shocked?" she pressed on, waiting for a reaction.

House stopped, giving Cameron a warning look as he stared her down. "Because she was really, _really _worth the money. Start the patient on amoxicillin and clarithromycin." The team nodded, filing out of the room to start treatment. When they were gone, House gave a look at his blind-enclosed office before limping off in the other direction.

* * *

Wilson walked briskly through the many halls of Princeton-Plainsboro, disbelief and slight annoyance probing at his thoughts with House's latest scheme. He formed how their conversation would go in his mind as he turned the corner and saw the familiar office.

"You-" He barged in before stopping dead, having spotted Stacy sitting in the chair. He blinked in confusion and Stacy offered a small smile of greeting.

"Dear God…" He trailed off in a whisper, backing out of the office and running down the hall.

Wilson finally found him in the cafeteria.

"Hey, Jimmy," House said, briefly glancing up at the oncologist. Wilson sat down, his face surprised and shocked. House nonchalantly continued talking. "Been expecting you."

Wilson leaned back in the chair, observing him, before leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. "Guess who I ran into in your office."

House took another bite, unperturbed. "Yeah, wasn't that last stripper's funbags giving Cuddy's a run for their money?"

Wilson stared at him, disbelieving that this had no effect on House. "Why is Stacy sitting in your office?" He demanded, his voice fast and urgent as he searched House's face. "Telling by your lack of sarcasm, something really bad just happened, something that will force you to change."

House met his gaze. "Do you remember why I told Stacy to go back to Mark in the first place? Because I couldn't change. That hasn't changed." His voice sounded pained. "_Nothing's changed._" With that, he got up to leave, pushing his way through the cafeteria and disappearing out the door. Wilson sighed, brushing his hands through his hair and rubbing his forehead with his palm. This couldn't be good. He could feel it.

* * *

Cameron handed the pills to the patient, smiling. "Just take these pills three times daily for a week and you should be fine. They're amoxicillin and clarithromycin; they're antibiotics."

Caroline, the patient, coughed. "What do you think I have?"

"We think it's bacterial pneumonia," Cameron said, checking everything was okay and running before taking her temperature. 104˚; still pretty high. With one final glance at the monitors, Cameron exited, chase and Foreman catching up with her outside.

"How's the patient?" Chase asked.

"Stable, just took the amoxicillin and clarithromycin."

"I still don't think it's pneumonia." Foreman added, frowning.

"Well, we'll see when she gets better or worse." Cameron said as the team started walking. "What do you think happened to House?" She asked.

"What do you mean?" Foreman, puzzled, wondered.

"Did you see him? Something shook him up pretty bad."

"Could be nothing, it's House were talking about." Chase argued as they turned the corner.

"He probably just got one too many cases of crotch rot in the clinic, or maybe some amazing breasts on a patient." Foreman shrugged as they stopped.

Cameron didn't relent. "I don't think so. Something really big must've happened. It takes a lot to catch House off guard like that."

"Sorry, but I don't really care." Foreman answered, walking away from them.

"Maybe Australia won the soccer game." Chase said jokingly, turning to a displeased Cameron. "I'm sure it'll blow over, things like this always do." He said softly, opening the door to the office and leaving Cameron alone in the hallway.

* * *

House popped a Vicodin into his mouth, the narcotic helping dull his feelings and emotions as usual. He had put off facing Stacy for as long as he could that day, but sooner or later he'd have to face her. He was half-heartedly hoping she'd leave. With a quick inhalation of air, he pushed on the cold glass door and entered his office.

Stacy hadn't moved from the chair, but she'd slide down as she had dozed off after awhile. His reaction kept playing over and over in her mind, glimpses of those startling blue irises haunting her. She stirred when he entered, pushing herself up in the chair and looking around blearily for a moment. Her eyes found him leaning on his desk, his gaze watching her. His expression was unreadable.

Silence swirled around them, but this time around it wasn't awkward. The tension had faded away, but it was still omniscient, like electricity pulsing through the air in the wake of a thunderstorm. A more sinister, dreadful foreboding feeling had settled like dust, as if storm clouds had appeared on the horizon and the wind had just started howling.

"Why'd you come back?" He said, his voice ominously quiet and deeper than usual. "To rub it in my face that you could love Mark and have a happy life with him, a life I could never give you? To make me suffer after leading you on and then leaving you?"

Stacy faced him, a strangely calm sensation overcoming her. Part of these words were true; he'd hurt her and she wanted to witness his pain and his suffering. It wasn't all the reasons she'd come, though. She'd sat down in his chair all day, contemplating why she'd come. She'd figured out that this baby had to mean something, that there had to be a reason she'd gone back to him. There was always a reason, and she needed to know it.

"I need to know, Greg. Maybe this baby was a blessing from God. The universe's way of showing me which path to take, which man to choose. A sign."

"That's irrational." House growled. "God doesn't exist, and even if he did, you don't need a sign to show you that Mark is the better choice. It might not even be your choice; I can send you away again, for your own good. I'm no good for you. And even if…" his voice faltered slightly, "that thing was from my creation, I don't want anything to do with it."

"I know," Stacy answered quietly, her eyes downcast. "I've always known that's what you'd say. It doesn't make a difference, I still need to know. I'm doing a prenatal paternity test. I need some blood." There. She'd said it.

Surprise flickered briefly over House's face as Stacy slowly shifted her gaze upwards to meet his.

"Please, I need to know."

House held her gaze for a moment, and in that moment, he was sucked in.

* * *

Cameron ran into the patient's room to find Chase and Foreman already present. Her pager had gone off momentarily, and she'd headed straight here.

"What's wrong?" She asked as bodies bustled around the room. A panicked voice rang above the noise.

"She started complaining of a metallic taste in her mouth," a strained man had answered her, fear flashing in his eyes. "I came to visit her before she'd eaten or anything! How can there be metal in her mouth?"

Gravely, Cameron shared a glance with Chase. His eyes mirrored her own, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Foreman, meanwhile, was checking the patient's mouth. After a quick look inside he leaned forward, smelling her breath.

"She also has breath odor," He confirmed. "Her kidneys are failing."

Cameron looked at her two colleagues, her voice barely above a whisper.

"This isn't bacterial pneumonia. We have no idea what this is."

**For some reason my chapters are doubling in length... I already have both chapter 3 and 4 ready to go but unfortunately I can't upload them. Sorry, but they'll hopefully be up in a few weeks or so!**


	3. The Thoughts

**Sorry for taking so long to update! But I'm back, and I've already written (on paper) the next three chapters, so now I just have to type them. It might take me awhile, though, bare with me.**

**Let me explain to you Cuddy's mentality. At the moment, she's House's friend and boss (and not yet very good friend and lover like on the show). This story starts after she's decided to look for sperm donors, and after House figured this out. This adds another element to the story: House and Cuddy's relationship, and especially Cuddy's caring, a form of envy, and mostly her growing feelings (as a friend) towards House. Beware, in this story, I'll make sure ALL the relationships are tested and tested again - not just House and Stacy's. But enough of that, anyway,** **enjoy!**

"Foreman was right; it's not pneumonia." House started, leaning back in the chair he was sitting on and observing his team critically. Glaring at Cameron and Chase, he stated, "I should fire you for thinking someone who's been vaccinated has that disease."

"Hey!" Chase exclaimed, immediately protesting. "You agreed with us!"

"Doesn't mean you're right," House shot back, sniffing in contempt. He rubbed his fingertips heavily over his forehead. "We were wrong- this time, let's be right."

"We started her on Dialysis for the renal failure," Foreman confirmed.

"Her kidneys should hold out, and she probably won't need a transplant." House nodded. "The more important issue is what's _killing_ her."

"The kidneys probably failed as another symptom," Cameron suggested.

"No, they're just a side effect of the clarithromycin," Chase countered, glancing at House. The lead diagnostician let a second of silence slip before answering. "One point for the huggable Aussie wombat."

"So what else can it be?" Foreman demanded.

"Tuberculosis," Cameron said.

"Doesn't explain the chest pain, not to mention there's been no weight loss."

"There _has _been weight loss," Chase interrupted the two diagnosticians.

"We can't risk treatment anyway; not with failed kidneys." Foreman argued.

"Fine." Cameron huffed. "The flu?" Silence fell as the team pondered this idea.

"It could be," Chase broke the silence, saying it slowly.

"Except the productive cough," Foreman replied.

"Could be some rare form, and anyway, if it is the flu, we'll just let her rest and then discharge her."

All eyes turned to House for the permission; the slight nod of agreement that allowed them to go along with the chosen plan. House continued to sit, fiddling with his fingers against the cane, his forehead firmly set against the wooden shaft. Guessing he was in deep thought and making a decision, the team knew better than to disturb him. He was thinking intensely, possibly having an epiphany- so they stood patiently in silence.

Eventually, Foreman shared an amused glance with Chase. Cameron caught it and cut it off with a short, crisp glare. Understanding, the two men slinked into the shadows like obedient puppies. They waited soundlessly for Cameron to do her thing- her whole concerned mother act.

"House?" She prodded gently, concern edging her voice as expected. The familiarity of that slight hint of care sparked House's interest and pulled him back from wherever he was. He looked up at her, pupils flashing in irritation. At one point, their intensity would've made Cameron stutter uncomfortably, but now she simply returned it with her own righteous, caring way. The irritation grew fiercer in his eyes at this, but she didn't relent, matching it easily. Finally, he backed off.

"What was that?" he mumbled, dropping the gaze.

"We think it's the flu," She said quietly, masking her own reaction and feelings but letting free the concern and worry. This flared the irritation up again; he hated how she always treated him like a disobedient and hurt dog. For once, though, he didn't fight her – _he sighed_.

"Do what you think is right," he said, hoisting himself up and shuffling towards his office. Cameron stared after him in shock, her mouth still slightly agape. That had been totally unlike House, she couldn't begin to believe what had caused the tiredness and wariness in his voice. She nodded briskly, turning to face her colleagues, her gaze openly worried and serious as Foreman and Chase followed her out the door.

Inside his office, House stared around the empty room. Stacy had left by then. He still remembered her departure clearly:

_She'd stepped forward, and he'd stiffened. She stopped at this, raising a cautious hand towards his face. He watched it raise, studying it precariously. Her skin wasn't pale, but it wasn't tanned either. He'd describe it as a more dusky cream in pigmentation, and from experience he knew it was smooth and soft. Thinking how well he knew her touch, he continued to make no move, the ring on her ring finger making his heart do a slight flip. In that second he no longer cared- he wanted desperately for that hand to reach his face, to pull him close as she brushed her lips close to his. A deep, familiar, aching longing formed in his stomach until he wanted to kiss her and never stop._

_Stacy saw a glimpse of this in his eyes and her eyes mirrored the same emotions. The same desired hunger, trapped in by mistakes, pride, and sorrow. Kind of like Baltimore, she remembered vaguely._

_House rigidly backed away at that instant, turning his back, and when he felt he could manage to look over his shoulder, she'd disappeared._

This played over and over in his head as he entered the lonely office. He stood thoughtfully at the door for a second before shaking his head and ambling towards the TV, hoping for a distraction as he flicked it on with the push of a button.

For once, though, monster trucks disinterested him. With a forlorn, overdramatic sigh, he pushed away from the TV, swiveling his chair around. His mind started traveling again and he eagerly tried to suppress it with another dose of narcotics.

Change was the one thing he was openly terrified of. His favourite hobby was indeed avoiding change in any way, blocking the natural 'What if…'s from his brain. Now, not finding anything remotely not boring to do or play or even look at, he tried to sleep. Sleep was often a sweet escape for him, even though it was often patched with nightmares. One of his other most needed needs was control, which explained the hatred of change. House had to control as much as he could, and dreams were obviously out of his reach. They brought into question all his deepest secrets and darkest fears.

So, no, sleep wasn't an option at the moment. The last thing he wanted to do was think. Well, he could go play foosball with Wilson… no he couldn't, not without being pestered about Stacy. Go visit Coma guy and watch his soap? Use his laser beam from the balcony? Pester Cameron? For some reason, all of those seemed bland and pointless. He could… work? Go do clinic hours? No, he wasn't that desperate, at least not yet. Annoy Cuddy? The thought lingered. He hadn't seen what ridiculous outfit she'd decided to wear today, and maybe a look at that elephant-sized ass would cheer him up- it had never failed to do so before. On the other hand, he didn't feel like yelling and debating a pointless argument he'd win later anyway. House sat back, eyebrows furrowed in a frown of thought. That left two things to do: face himself, or face his patient. With a swift movement, he'd swiped up her file and was charging through the halls.

* * *

Doctor Lisa Cuddy, the efficient female Dean of Medicine, was standing with her head of Oncology when a grim but secretly excited House careened by. One look at Wilson's face provided nothing at all as the doctor stared at his shoes and refused to meet her demanding gaze. Curious, Cuddy looked over her shoulder to see where her craziest – by a long shot – doctor had gone. She found him quickly, not surprised in the least when his gaze traveled up from her waist and planted on her chest as she pivoted. She raised a questioning eyebrow when he finally looked up to her eyes. Gleefully playing her game, he raised a mockingly seductive eyebrow himself, stopping in the middle of the busy hall. Not yet feeling accomplished, he winked at her, making fists in front of him at waist level and thrusting his hips forward in a sexual manner. Cuddy sneered at him and turned back to Wilson, but not before House glimpsed the slight red blush that had tinted her cheeks. Satisfied, he smirked and disappeared into the patient's room.

"Oh God," Cuddy muttered as she faced Wilson, pulling and adjusting her skirt uncomfortably. Wilson squirmed as she did, out of guilt or discomfort, Cuddy didn't know.

"Where did he go?" She asked Wilson curiously. He peered over her shoulder, still refusing to meet her gaze. "Into his patient's room, I believe."

Cuddy gaped at him. "You're lying. There's no way. He didn't actually just go into a patient's room," she stopped adjusting her skirt abruptly and whirled around with big, disbelieving eyes to see House through the glass walls - with his patient.

"To hell he did," Wilson stepped up beside her, offering a solemn nod.

"Hell just froze over," She murmured, blinking. She turned on Wilson, curiosity pricking under her skin. This was something House wouldn't normally do, something must have provoked it. Cuddy knew if anyone knew what the problem was, Wilson would. He squirmed, looking away from her eyes.

"You know something," she accused him. She dropped her voice lower. "Except you don't know everything, and that's why you're squirming." She felt a glimmer of satisfaction. She knew these men better than she thought. "So what do you know?"

Almost apologetically, Wilson glanced at where House was. "I saw Stacy in his office," he admitted. Cuddy stared at him in disbelief, but Wilson offered nothing more as he slipped away, leaving Cuddy to turn her controlling gaze towards the door that held in House and answers but kept her out.

* * *

"Hi." House said simply as he scrutinized his patient and her gigantic family. "I'm Doctor House. And you must be Catherine."

"Caroline," the occupants of the room chorused. House grinned in a pained fashion. "Oh goody, looks like I'm in for a Vienna-Boy's-choir styled day." He pulled up a stool. "Now, everyone, OUT." Obediently, everyone started filing out of the room.

"Can I stay?" Piped up a middle-aged man. He wore a flannel shirt with tight jeans and had short, wavy brown hair. Stubble was visible on his tanned, weathered face; his eyes were a gentle deep green; and he offered a kind smile. House immediately took a disliking.

"Sorry, no homosexuals allowed," He said, turning to the patient. The man didn't move and from what House could tell, his gaze and smile didn't fade, either.

"Let him stay," Caroline said, eyes twinkling as she looked at the man, who reached for her hand and smiled back. House warily looked between the two.

"Alright, I get it, lovebirds. It's the classic situation, isn't it? You two are in love and therefore never dare lie to each other, God forbid-"

The woman caught him off. "In love?" She giggled. "No, we're just friends." She clarified as the man blushed.

House looked at both of them again. "With benefits, I bet." He coughed, the pained smile returning to his face. "So, Catherine, tell me. What are your symptoms?"

"Um… a cough, fever, chills, and chest pain." Caroline coughed, and the man rubbed her back. House rolled his eyes before looking up at the man. "Is this true?"

"Of course it's true…" He looked confused. "And why didn't you politely ask what my name was?"

"I really don't care what your name is." House innocently answered as he turned back to his patient, listening to her heartbeat through his stethoscope.

"Well, the name's Mark."

House almost stumbled off his chair as he did a suspicious double-take, assuring it wasn't _Mark_ Mark. He stiffened for less than a second before moving one, taking her temperature. As he casually waited, he flipped through her file.

"Hmm… says you're a smoker. Love the taste of holy tobacco in the morning, don't you? Do you put it in your coffee instead of sugar?" He sneered. Caroline gave him a strange look, but House continued. "And you live out in the country. Love the smell of cow patties too, don't you? Own any cattle…" He trailed off, his eyes widening with an idea. Suddenly, he jumped off the stool and ripped off her sheet, pinching her clothes and pulling away to reveal loose, empty space. "Weight loss," he murmured, ignoring the startled glances he received. He raised an arm, peering into an armpit and jabbing a hand there despite protesting yelps. "And sweating." He got up abruptly, exiting the hospital room without a farewell and paging his team. He made his way back to his office, a purpose in his stride.

* * *

"It's TB." He said as his team soundlessly entered the premises.

"Didn't I say that earlier?" Cameron pointed out as she took a sip of coffee.

"Before it was stupid. Now it makes sense: weight loss and sweating. Plus, she's a smoker."

"She hasn't been out of the country in 3 years." Foreman said, taking a seat.

"But New Jersey just imported a bunch of cattle; our love doves live out in the country."

Chase, Foreman, and Cameron sat in silence as this set in.

"I'll do a chest x-ray to confirm." Chase finally said.

"Aww, c'mon, can't we just treat her?" House whined.

"Not since that last time you tried that and her kidneys failed." Foreman retorted. House sighed.

"But-" He started to protest but stopped his gaze just above Chase's head. "Get lost, I'm going to get it in 3…2…1…"

"HOUSE!" Cuddy screeched.

"O time," he commented, staring at his watch before hoping to look up at empty chairs. Instead, his team looked at him expectantly.

"Jeez. Chest x-ray; get lost." He clarified, and his team filed out as Cuddy entered.

"You gave amoxicillin and clarithromycin to a patient without diagnosing – with a test – bacterial pneumonia?" She demanded, planting herself a few feet away from House, her head cocked at an angle to stare at him defiantly.

"Was that a statement or a question? And does it even matter if I answer yes or no? I think you know the answer. Can this wait? A new episode of my soap is on in ten minutes." He looked at her top, impressed. "By the way, I _love_ the top. So provocative. Is it Gucci?"

Cuddy sighed, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes in a vain attempt to control her frustration. He was crazy, and he couldn't be controlled. Cuddy was one of those rare types of women that could limit his uncontrollable wildness, and sometimes she really hated the job. But a little part of her was also fascinated by his sheer will and determination; she respected and admired the lengths he'd go for his patient. Heck, Cuddy could almost say she understood him.

"You know what can happen if clarithromycin is ill-prescribed." She started, challenging his blue eyes with her own. "Amoxicillin will do the job just fine. Why add clarithromycin on top of the amoxicillin, then?"

House shrugged indifferently, turning his gaze sideways. "I'd know sooner if it was bacterial pneumonia or not."

Cuddy placed a hand on her hip, her other busy pointing an accusing finger inches from his chest. "You didn't think it was pneumonia."

"The symptoms all pointed to it." He turned his gaze back to her. "No reason it couldn't be."

Cuddy refused to back down, scrutinizing his gaze. "You know what it is!"

He swatted her hand away, shoulders slumping as he broke their eye contact. A sudden tiredness filled his limbs with lead. Cuddy stepped back, biting her lip, scared it was something she'd said or done.

"I don't know in the slightest what it is." He admitted exhaustion clear in his voice. "Might be TB, but I don't know."

Cuddy sighed inwardly. She knew what this was about. After Wilson had refused to give her details, Cuddy had called up Stacy and gotten her answers. She sat down in front of him, reassurance prominent in her gaze and tone. "You'll figure it out; it's one of the only things I'm certain of in this world."

House's eyes flashed in surprise at this revelation. "You really shouldn't have so much faith in me," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. Cuddy either didn't hear or acted like she hadn't. After a pause, she got up, House's eyes drifting up to her cleavage as she did. His head remained downcast, though.

"House…" She started, and her tone alone told House that she knew, and knew it all. He didn't reply, picking up a pen and toying with it.

"I…" She stopped, fumbling with her words. Surprised, he glanced up. Cuddy offered and almost – _forlorn?_ – smile. "I'm happy for you. I mean, if it all turns out okay. You know, this could be a turning point. Maybe the better days have finally arrived." She said quietly. House searched her eyes, taken aback by the intensity of the emotion in them. They were hinted with feelings unknown and unrecognizable to him. Was that also caring? Wistfulness? Longing? Jealousy? He squinted, trying to peer closer. Suddenly aware of the situation, Cuddy blushed for the second time that day and quickly made her exit. Intrigued, he stared after her, his gaze for once not aimed at her rear.

* * *

Only a little later did House call it a day and get ready to go home. For some reason, he dreaded going home, but was also exhausted and longed for it. It was an unusually long day for him – its entirety felt like it had taken place over ages. He closed up his office, stuffed an arm through his coat sleeve and then the other, and hobbled out into the hallway.

Wilson was closing his door when House passed. He fumbled with his keys and barely managed to make the elevator, but he did, even though House repeatedly pressed the close button. Wilson stood in silence, staring up at the floors passing.

"You up for a drink at the bar?" Wilson asked, looking sideways at House. House licked his lips thoughtfully, still watching the elevator doors in front of them.

"What for? To celebrate?" He sneered, surprised at the harshness in his voice. Wilson hardly seemed taken aback, though.

"Let me remind you that you still haven't told me what's worth celebrating. But no, because it's a Monday, and that's what friends do." He said firmly, surprising House.

"I'm not going to tell you," he muttered. The doors opened and the two men walked out in silence until they got to House's motorcycle.

"So? Yes or no?" Wilson asked, his breath steaming in the chilly air. House mounted his bike, sitting up.

"Fine. Sure," He snapped. Wilson nodded and quickly trudged through the melting slush to his car. It was the time of year when winter slowly released its last grip and spring had closed in. Today was the first day it'd been nice enough for House to ride his motorbike to work. Frankly, he was glad he had despite the biting wind, as the last thing he wanted to do was ride in a car with Wilson.

House, of course, got to the bar before Wilson did. The freedom of the motorcycle had helped him calm down a bit. He'd speeded all the way there, zipping and weaving between cars, searching for the familiar thrill. The adrenaline surging through his blood had allowed him to not think about Stacy or anything really as he put all his energy into concentrating on the bike and road before him. Now, he impatiently waited outside. He could go inside and order a drink if he wanted. He stomped to ward off the cold, and was about to go in when his cell rang. He let it ring twice; debating who it could be, when Wilson appeared beside him, looking at him expectantly.

"Go on, answer your phone." He gestured, turning to head inside. House followed him, hand diving into his pocket and fishing for the ringing phone. He found his prize and flipped it open.

"House." He said gruffly, shaking off his coat and sitting on a stool next to Wilson.

Foreman's voice crackled through. "The chest x-rays were clean. It's not TB."

House absorbed this, disappointment filling his mind.

"What do you want?" Wilson mouthed.

"Budweiser," he hissed back, turning back to the phone. "Alright. Run a tox screen and check out her place tomorrow. If you don't find anything, do an LP and MRI to make sure it's not in the brain."

"Got it." Foreman hung up, and House returned his phone to his pocket.

"Who was it?" Wilson asked as they waited for their drinks.

"Foreman. Chest x-rays were negative for TB; they appeared normal."

Wilson thought about this. "Maybe lung cancer? Foreman's a neurologist; he could've easily missed a spot on the x-ray."

House shrugged. "Dunno. I'll check out the x-ray tomorrow."

Wilson nodded his agreement, and they remained quiet as their drinks arrived, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Wilson briefly lingered his mind on work, reviewing over the day and about the meeting he had tomorrow with Cuddy about developing the oncology department. Sooner than later though, his mind wandered towards the man drinking beside him. He wondered why Stacy had come to see House, but more why it seemed she'd _secretly_ come to see him. He wanted to demand an answer out of his best friend, but Wilson was wise enough to know the answer would be his sooner if he stayed silent.

As if having read Wilson's thoughts, House muttered, "She's pregnant." The truth was, House had come here not to think, and that's exactly what had ended up happening anyway. He'd rationalized, and, as always, decided to unload his frustration and desperation on Wilson. House stared at the half empty beer glass in his hands, avoiding looking at (and facing) Wilson's reaction.

Now, Wilson was definitely not expecting that. Bewilderment blossomed on his face as a million thoughts presented at the news. It was great news! He'd have to congratulate her! But what did House have to do with it? As he realized, the happiness dulled. Was it his baby? Wilson grimaced. That would be a very bumpy trail, with all its factors: Mark, House, change, parenthood, feelings… Realizing the main problem was sitting next to him and Wilson's reaction would have a huge impact for weeks – if not months – to come, Wilson frantically searched for the best reaction. The classic, original, _natural _feeling of happiness and celebration was out of the question. A somber, more this-is-the-apocalypse approach would fancy House better. But then again, no one really knew with House. Wilson chose the best possible option – to stay silent.

After permitting Wilson time to react, House continued on. "She doesn't know whose it is. She thinks this is some kind of omen." He made a face. "She wants to do a prenatal paternity test."

"Did you consent?" Wilson asked.

"Yes."

This brought on another volley of sickeningly dizzying thoughts. If he sad yes, it meant part of him wanted this. Wilson knew House well enough to know he was somewhat human, and he longed for a life with Stacy, kids or not. He also knew that if things turned out badly, and House got hurt again… things would be _very _bad at the best; he'd more likely be irreparable. The indecision, the ache, and the grief were already present in his friend's voice.

The next time House spoke, his voice was heavy with misery." Parts of me hate her for bringing this news and change to my life, but parts of me can't help but be sick at the thought of losing her forever - again." He didn't mention the parts of him that had always hated himself for the things he'd done to Stacy, and now for the things he must do to her and her unborn child, nor the parts that told him he'd be a terrible father. The worst was the parts that made him want a different life – one he could never have – so bad it hurt. But there were reasons Wilson and House were friends, and Wilson knew all these unspoken thoughts that were hidden by House's pride.

Wilson ordered another round, buying him time for him to think of something to say. Stacy was also his friend, and he still found it hard not to be at least a tad happy for her, but on the other hand, he felt terrible for House. This couldn't be easy.

"Oh, stop pitying me," House said, disgusted. "You should be happy, for Christ's sake." He lowered his voice. "_I _should be happy. But I'm not." He finished the glass, swiping a hand across his mouth and trudging out of the bar.

He turned the lights as he entered his townhouse, flipping his keys onto the table and tossing away his bag. He moved into the dark kitchen and opened to fridge door, pulling out leftover pasta and a bottle of vodka. Slowly moving without his cane, which he'd left in the other room, he collapsed onto the couch and flipped on the television. He checked his answering machine for any messages. There were 3 in total; one from Wilson, which had the sounds of the bar and then nothing. He probably had been meaning to say something but couldn't find the words. One was from Cuddy about work, though House heard a certain variation of tone in her voice he was too fed up to bother figuring out. The last was from Stacy, offering details on the test and her progress and wondering when he could get some blood. He immediately deleted them all, popping a Vicodin into his mouth. His leg was acting up again. He messaged it a bit before getting up and turning off his TV. He closed the lights and retrieved his cane, shuffling quietly to his bedroom. He felt around for the light switch. He found it and as soon as he flicked it on he immediately moved through the messy room. He sat on the bed, setting his cane beside him and pulling off his shirt. He put on a loose fitting T-shirt and as he slowly lay down, he lifted his hips as to pull down his pants. He often had to stop as the pain augmented; grimacing each time it danced up and down his torture thigh. Finally, they slid off after five agonizingly slow minutes. He could feel his eyelids drooping. Not bothering to brush his teeth or slide on a different pair of pyjama pants; he slid his legs under the cover and snapped off the light. Darkness engulfed the bedroom.

He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	4. The Disease

**Omg this is a really really long chapter. For me, at least. And there will be longer ones still. I had to add in a little last minute medical issues for the disease to fit (HappyDaysAreHereAgain shout out), and I was too lazy to bother rereading all 8000 plus words so I just really hope it worked out. SHHHH!**

**Besides that, I don't have much else to say. For now... **

_Three Days Later:_

_It had been three days since Stacy had come to the hospital and revealed her pregnancy, and things had returned more normal and familiar for House. He'd talked to Stacy once in that time, and all was going well with her from what he could tell. Back at Princeton-Plainsboro, Caroline's condition had gotten worse as House and his team struggled to find the right diagnosis. Foreman and Chase had explored her house, a medium-sized cottage in the country. They'd discovered an asbestos mine not too far away on their drive back (after having gotten lost). This had led to a chain of wrong diagnoses, each time worsening the patient's condition. It was neither cancer nor asbestosis, two diseases House had mostly explored in the past days. The pressure was on for House to find the right condition and be the hero once again. But with his current state of mind possibly putting Caroline in danger, Cuddy had overseen the progress and considered taking him off the case as time ticked on. Relentlessly, House had thrown himself into his dusty untouched books, spending hours pondering over which infection, condition, or autoimmune it could be but failing to find the right one. He complained a lot, pressuring his team to run incredible amounts of tests as he did his research (and actual research too, not code for naked female bodies on the internet). He'd never admit he was indeed grateful for the distraction. Cameron had picked up on the unusual eagerness despite the overlaying misery as she often did and her curiosity of House's personal life bloomed. She still hadn't found the answers she strived for. For a day after the bar incident, Wilson and House's friendship had been prickly but they'd come back as always. Ah, yes, life had returned to its completely complicated normal at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital – or as normal as it could possibly ever be again._

* * *

House shook his prescription bottle, a small delightful pill falling into his palm. He'd completely erased the whiteboard in order to start over from the beginning as a new approach. He leaned heavily against the board, his team seated around the messy table in front of him, concentrated and focused. He didn't have to tell them it was show time – one more wrong treatment and the patient would die, no treatment and she'd _also_ die. This time they had to be right no matter what.

"Differential diagnosis time. Symptoms," he demanded. He'd never admit in a million years, despite his rudeness and ego, that he enjoyed this part of a case; the part proved to be the hero or the loser. The tension in the air thrilled him as someone's life hung in the balance – notably, his balance. He was definitely self-centered but he wasn't cruel. Anyhow, he probably only enjoyed it because he was right the majority of the time.

This time, in order to be right, he'd asked Cameron to list off each symptom aloud and the team to clarify if it was the disease's cause or not.

"Fever." Cameron said.

"Disease X. She came in with one before and it was an original symptom." Chase said immediately. Cameron and Foreman nodded their agreement. House turned and wrote it down.

"Chills," Cameron started as House finished jotting 'fever' under the label of symptoms.

"Disease X, original symptom." Foreman explained, looking around for nods of agreement, which he received.

"Productive cough.'" Cameron said, and then continued talking before anyone else could speak up. "Disease X, she came to the hospitals with complaints of productive cough."

"Chest pain," She continued. The team looked surprised.

"We never really gave it much thought." House murmured, speaking for them all.

"Well, then let's give it some thought. It might help us find the answer." Chase said.

"The chest x-ray did confirm it was some type of infection, primarily in the lungs." Foreman pointed out. "That narrows it down."

"Not down enough. We could do a lung biopsy, but the results may not be back in time." House disagreed, staring intently on the whiteboard. "Better to keep going."

Cameron exhaled unenthusiastically and looked back down at her papers. "Kidney failure."

"Clarithromycin," Chase said immediately.

"Disease X." Cameron said a split second later, glaring at him. They both turned to see who House would side with. He was, of course, the uncontested leader, and decision making was definitely a strong-point – even if they were crazy, they rarely proved wrong.

"Go on," He said to no one in particular.

"If ill-prescribed, clarithromycin has a common side effect of renal problems. This, last time I checked, includes renal failure." Chase spoke up, triumphantly looking at Cameron.

"But since it's an infection, it means the infection might have spread elsewhere." Cameron straightened her back, smirking a sarcastic 'thanks for playing– better luck next time'.

An amused expression danced its way across House's face. He'd taught them well. "Go on." A ghost of a smile appeared.

Catching on, Cameron rolled her eyes. Also realizing this was just House screwing with them, Chase leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning. House's attempted smile faded.

"Fine, be no fun." He scowled. "It's because of the clarithromycin. One point for the dingo lover."

"What? How do you know?" Cameron immediately protested, ignoring the smug look Chase was giving her.

"Oh sorry. I forgot I just gave you time to explain your reasoning, which you didn't use. But I don't. Cuddy thinks so." He mockingly covered his mouth. "Shhh. You know what happens if Cuddy doesn't get what she wants..."

Cameron rolled her eyes, reading the next symptom. "Weight loss."

"Disease X." Chase stated.

"Not disease X," Cameron said quickly, receiving raised eyebrows. House and Foreman shared an entertained look.

"Saying that just to disagree with Pretty Boy? Or is there a reason?"

She ignored them. "Her diet's been off since she was admitted. A lot of patients lose weight at hospitals."

"Mmm." House thought, and Foreman looked impressed. "It's a tie. Wow, the chemistry between you two is red hot. I can almost _feel_ the sexual tension."

Cameron looked away, and a faint blush colored Chase's face. House smirked, feeling accomplished. Foreman exhaled loudly in frustration. "Can we continue with the medical issues at hand, please?"

House's face scrunched up. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Cameron gave House a look. "Sweating." She sat back, a confident smile on her face. "House's symptom to explain TB."

House quickly turned his back to them, adding on to the team's glee. It was their running joke: sweating had been House's excited explanation for why the disease could be TB, even though it meant nothing at all. Alas, sad as it was, when House made a medical mistake, the team took pleasure in making sure he never lived it down – much like he did to them.

"Hmm… maybe a symptom? TB?" Chase said, barely managing to remain serious. Foreman cracked up.

"Or… maybe… This might be crazy… she was hot?"

"No, gotta be TB." Cameron giggled. House muttered something, but the team didn't' hear it. "She was probably just nervous. I mean, the _handsome_," Chase e made his words drawn out and overdramatic, "_charming_, _nice_ doctor was ever _so gently_ asking her _polite_ questions. She must've been turned on." Chase snorted, and with that, all except House burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

His face masked, House turned around and started for the door.

"Aw, did we hurt the poor doctor's feelings?" Foreman said in a childish voice, Chase snickering in the background. House's eyes clouded over with thundering emotion.

"While you all snicker like immature preschoolers, I'm going to go do my job." He growled and didn't mention the fact it meant he'd rather be in the clinic than here. He didn't have to: the team burst out laughing again, so hard tears glistened in their eyes. Muttering under his breath, House left them snickering in the office. Cameron was laughing as hard as the rest, but some worry pricked at the back of her mind. She knew as well as anyone House could dish it out and not be able to take it, but he didn't often make a mistake, and even rarer a simple one like this. Sure, he jumped to conclusions, but he was nearly ever blindly wrong.

* * *

"Cory here has been complaining of a headache for awhile now. He hasn't been to school in a week," a woman with grotesque makeup and provocative clothes (they made Cuddy's apparel rate like a strict school uniform on House's scale of provocative clothing) said in a disturbingly flirtatious tone. She pointed to her ten year old son sitting up on the table in Exam Room Two. She batted her overly mascara-twirled eyelashes at House, obviously the obscene I'm-still-sexy-and-young-forty-year-old type. House forced down the urge to gag, instead writing a prescription on his pad, ripping it off and handing it to her. He pretended to not notice her flirting with him, though his eyes struggled to keep away from her obviously fake boobs that were stuffed in a saggy, over-dramatically low neck top.

He studied her face as she read the prescription. As he expected, it took her awhile, but eventually her face screwed up in a confused expression.

"HB pencils…?" She looked up at him, blinking dumbly. House rolled his eyes. "Buy your son some pencils and take him back to school."

"But what's wrong with him?" She asked, twirling her hair.

"Apparently, not only a slutty but_ also_ a very dumb mom." He scrunched up his face in a disgusted fashion. "He's faking it."

On their way out, he stopped the kid. "Next time, it might be more useful to come up with something else wrong after a few days. It'll get you more time off school." House advised, and the mother pushed her son out the door, waving a goodbye to House who ignored her. He was grateful when they disappeared out of the clinic.

He leaned his elbows on the exam table, sitting simply on a stool. He fished out a Vicodin and slipped it into his mouth and savored as it slid down his throat, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead thoughtfully.

"I'm thoroughly surprised you didn't take down her number," a soft voice commented from the doorway. House's eyes flickered open as he recognized the owner, and turned to face Cuddy. She leaned on the doorway, her arms folded and her eyes gentle.

"Children are deal-breakers. Sex apparently suffers after them, and that was a clear example of deprivation and desperation." He answered, then realized how awkward that must've sounded and winced slightly. Cuddy simply laughed softly, gliding into the exam room and coming to stand next to him.

"I'm even more surprised you're working in the clinic," She admitted, the softness and gentleness of her voice once again surprising House, and he squinted at her suspiciously. Her voice haunted him, it was so unlike Cuddy without the outrage but yet so typical of her to care. He furrowed his eyebrows. Actually, Cuddy seemed to be more and more caring, and more and more un-Cuddy like. He glanced at the calendar on the wall – she should be PMSing, and extra bitchy. Yet she was the exact opposite. He frowned. He'd never understand hormones, and more importantly, he'd never understand women.

"Why'd you come see me?" He tilted his head, observing her from a different angle. She held his gaze, her greyish blue eyes filled with calmness, a sort of wholeness which intrigued him. She searched his eyes with such a strong unrecognizable emotion that House felt his eyes break the look even though those blue eyes burned into his mind. He felt weird, and squirmed, shaking his head to rid them of those startling eyes. Cuddy was still looking at him, precariously studying his face, and he stiffened. He watched her watch him, trying to shake off any feelings or thoughts towards the look she gave him.

"No reason," she finally shrugged, straightening out the black skirt she was wearing. For once, House noted that black looked good on her; that it brought out her actually really pretty eyes and defined her dark hair. She wore a tight black skirt that stopped just before the knees and a fluffy creamy pink blouse with a matching tight black jacket, the same shade as the skirt. Her curves were, as expected, noticeable in the outfit. Cuddy felt self-conscious as he studied her, and even though he did it every day, she felt this time it wasn't just his testosterone speaking.

"I better go." She hesitated. "You're actually doing clinic hours," she repeated to herself again, disbelieving, and sounding more like the Cuddy House had come to known. She left the exam room, and House waited a stunned moment before jumping into action. He clicked the door shut and locked it, flipping the blinds closed. He limped over to the counter and pulled out a drawer, cautiously pushing away numerous syringes and needles, all used for different reasons. He found the correct one to draw blood and picked it up triumphantly, laying it on the counter as he quickly and carelessly washed his hands. He stared at the supplies he'd gathered, and with a calming deep breath, he secured the tourniquet. He wiped his skin raw with an alcohol disinfectant, his mind distracted. He loosened the tourniquet and rubbed the disinfected area with a cotton ball, moving efficiently. Expertly, he slid the needle and let the tube fill, his face finally relaxing and the concentrated frown fading. He quickly took it out and applied pressure with a piece of gauze. Relief and dead surged through him, but he pushed all thoughts away. He realized just then he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly, waiting a few moments before retrieving his cane and limping away and out of the clinic. His pager sounded, and he gratefully headed to the elevator to catch his ride up. He stepped into the empty elevator, and the doors were about to close when someone barely managed to squeeze in.

House's heart sank and he said a few curses under his breath. It was Mark, the patient's cheery friend, who'd slipped in. House kept his eyes downcast, hoping that he wouldn't be recognized and could avoid an annoying conversation for the next few minutes. His luck didn't hold out.

"Hi! It's Doctor House, right?" Mark broke out into a wide grin, face flushed. House sighed.

"Yeah." He glanced sideways at Mark.

"How's Caroline?" Mark turned very serious. "I came as soon as I could, but I can't stay too long. I'm on my break."

"Well,_ Catherine's_ still dying." He shrugged. "You must have a pretty shitty job if you drive here on your break." He said slowly, eyeing him with distaste.

"Nah, it's not that bad. She'd do it for me." Silence followed.

"So… Where do you guys stand?" House's curiosity got the better of him.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you like… friends? Coworkers? Slept together? It's medical questions." He added quickly.

"Yeah, we work together and we've been friends for a very long time."

"So yes to the sex."

Mark looked disgusted and offended.

"Really bad sex?"

"No sex!"

"There had to be sex." Mark shook his head, completely baffling and rendering House in shock.

"It's medically relevant." House defended himself. "Ever been to her house?" He continued, hoping to juice out more likely relevant information if he couldn't get the personal shame.

"Of course. Very quaint; she just loves to breathe in the fresh air. I've stayed overnight; it's so peaceful."

Now it was House's turn to be disgusted. "You slept at her place and didn't jump her? _Are you crazy?!_ Or are you gay? She's smoking hot!"

Before Mark got a chance to answer, the elevator doors dinged open and House walked away, still shaking his head. He didn't know much, but he knew that those two could be clearly together and live happily. How could people be so blind and narrow-minded? He shook his head again, checking his pager. Surprisingly, it was from Wilson. He walked over to the familiar office labeled 'James Wilson, M.D.' and opened the door. Wilson was sitting at his desk, working.

"Why'd you page me?" House asked. "Did you find something?"

"By God, Cuddy was right!" Wilson checked his watch. "Judging by the amount of time it took you to get here, you _were _doing clinic hours."

"So you didn't find anything?" House stomped his cane impatiently. "What a waste of a page."

"Now it's unlike you to do clinic hours without being pestered to, and Cuddy said she hadn't –"

"What, now you both scrutinize my ever move?"

"-which means there was something in it for you or something you had to do."

"Or, I just wanted to ignore useless people like you." House snapped. "Is there anything medically relevant I need to know or am I wasting my time?"

Wilson sighed. "Deflecting as usual. Nope, your patient's the same." House absentmindedly nodded, looking thoughtful.

"That Mark guy and her seem pretty close." Wilson suggested, "Maybe you can juice some information out of him?"

House made a face. "Already tried. Did you know they frequently stay at each other's places? They've never even slept together."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's normal, for everyone else besides you, to have lady friends they don't want to jump."

"That's revolting. Why go through the trouble of dealing with them for no reward?" House grimaced.

So you do want to jump Cameron then? I'll let her know."

"That's different. No, I'm forced to interact with her because she's my employee."

"Whatever." Wilson dismissed the topic with a tired wave of his hand. "You said they often stay at each other's places? Did you check out his place yet?"

"Why would I? If whatever caused it was at his place, he'd be sick and a lot sicker than she is. Do the world a favor and stay in Oncology, Wilson." House stopped abruptly, thinking. "Now that I think about it, how do we know Foreman and Chase did do a thorough job? We don't. I'm going to check her place out after, you game?"

"Later? Why not now?"

House shrugged. "I have things to do. I'll take that as a yes, then." He slipped out of the office.

"Things to do? Like what? Play video games?" Wilson called out after him, but House ignored him, excitedly paging his team to meet him the office.

* * *

Stacy silently cursed herself for letting Cuddy choose where to meet. She sank lower in the booth of the coffee shop, keeping her eyes downcast and glancing at the door every so often. This café was a hotspot for the hospital's employees, and Stacy really didn't feel like having a conversation with anyone else except Cuddy. She didn't know why, either. She and Cuddy had been… friends, but when she'd left work at the hospital they hadn't exactly kept in touch. And that was until Cuddy had called out of the blue, claiming she'd seen Stacy in the hospital, which Stacy had doubted. Stacy had been extra careful and made sure not to be seen. That meant someone who _had _seen her – House – would've told Cuddy. She was surprised; she didn't think House talked about many personal things with his boss. She knew enough to know they had a relationship beyond boss/employee and doctor/doctor, but she'd never guess it was that deep or serious. It made her feel kind of strange, as if she was intruding on something and not the other way around. Her heart did a little twist but she shrugged it off, wrapping her hands around her coffee and taking a sip.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She muttered as it burned her mouth. She swallowed painfully, eyes stinging. When she blinked the blurriness away, she just glimpsed Chase, Cameron, and Foreman exiting the café, and relief swam through her. Cuddy, being the Dean of Medicine, had a more pressing job (Stacy had taken time off from her current job anyway), so Stacy had let her choose the meeting place. Cuddy had chosen here, and Stacy guessed it was the farthest away she could mange. And their coffee was pretty good, considering you didn't scold your mouth on it.

She thought again about why House had told Cuddy. Apparently, Cuddy hadn't known very much at all before calling her, only that Stacy had been in the hospital. Stacy frowned. She'd then told Cuddy everything without thinking, glad for a trustworthy confidant. She didn't full out regret it now, but she was having a few second thoughts. She remembered that Wilson had also seen at the hospital, to her dismay. It hadn't bothered her as much as she'd wished, though – they were good friends, and she'd expected House to tell him everything anyway. Maybe Wilson even told Cuddy.

She briefly closed her eyes, loathing how complicated relationships were. She had told House one little sentence, and the next thing you know, she had to deal with all these people. Why did humans have to be unpredictable and complicated? More so, why did _House_ have to be so secretive and complex? Stacy knew him better than anyone, but even she found him impossible. It was one reason she'd fallen for him among many; his mysterious and odd reactions, among the fact no one would ever understand him except himself, and the way he took pride in that.

She opened her eyes, and at that moment, Cuddy appeared in the door. Stacy made sure Cuddy knew where she was, and smiled a greeting as the woman slid into the seat across from her.

Stacy watched as she took off her neat and fashionable coat and scarf. Cuddy turned on her, smiling.

"Hi," She started.

"Hey," Stacy greeted as Cuddy ordered Earl Grey tea.

"No coffee?" She inquired, knowing Cuddy liked coffee just as much as tea. Cuddy shrugged.

"Less caffeine and it's generally better for you." Stacy nodded, taking another tentative sip to find her coffee much more bearable. They made small talk for awhile, avoiding the tense awkwardness in the air. Deciding enough was enough; Cuddy reached a hand across the table and clasping her warm palms around Stacy's hands. This forced an unwilling Stacy to truly look her in the eye.

"Hey. I'm here for you. You can trust me – you have before. I'll do anything to help." Her gaze was intense with friendliness, and Stacy found even slight wistfulness in its depth that alarmed and comforted her at the same time. She sighed, giving in – she wanted Cuddy, a responsible doctor and respectable friend, on her side. She might come in handy, being House's boss and friend and all.

"Thanks," Stacy said, and then hesitated. "How's Greg? He hasn't answered any of my calls."

Cuddy stared at her tea, searching for a gentle way of saying things. "He's the same – narcissist, curmudgeon, rude, and a huge lazy jerk – but sometimes his mind seems elsewhere. He's distracted."

Stacy nodded slowly, absorbing this information. He was purposely ignoring her and pushing her away, but every time Stacy looked at Mark nowadays, her heart filled with guilt.

"Did you tell Mark?" Cuddy asked gently. Stacy shook her head.

"To be honest, I don't know what I'll tell him, no matter what happens." She sighed again. Cuddy looked at her sympathetically.

"Are you coming to Princeton-Plainsboro for check-ups? I can oversee it myself, if you want."

"It's a long ways from home. I don't know if I can afford slipping away to here."

"The test will be over with soon. Things will get easier." Cuddy looked at her watch. "I have to go, sorry, Stacy, but call me."

When Cuddy had left, Stacy thought over her words. It was true, once the test happened and was over with, she'd choose one life or the other and not look back. Things will get easier… When she'd said that to House; they'd gotten a lot more complicated and painful. Stacy took her time to finish her coffee, and then ventured into the cold.

* * *

"What's up?" Foreman asked, diving his hand into the bag of pretzels. House crunched noisily on a mouthful, swallowing obnoxiously and pointing to the whiteboard accusingly with his cane.

"We have the symptoms," he took another handful, "and they haven't helped. But what do we actually know about our patient?"

Cameron made a face as she watched the men stuff their faces. House sneered back at her, purposely showing the half-eaten contents of his mouth.

"Ew, gross," she put up a hand and turned her face away. Chase and Foreman laughed.

"Welcome to men, babe." House said, the thrust his cane forward in an agitated fashion in the direction of the whiteboard. "What do we know about our patient? _Hellooo?_"

"Remind me why I stay here again." Cameron muttered, glaring at House. "She's 39 years old."

"Oh! Oh! I know this one!" House shot his hand up into the air. "It's because you like the money, want to learn from _the best_, and you get turned on by the way Chase flicks his golden locks out of his eyes. More importantly, though, is the fact you say you hate the rude doctor but everyone knows you still love him because he's damaged. Right?"

Shifting uncomfortable when Cameron didn't answer, Chase coughed loudly. "She lives in the country, in a cottage. Asbestos mines and cattle farms nearby."

"She works at a hair dresser's." Foreman added.

"There's a new symptom- a rash." Chase blurted out. If looks could kill, House would have Chase murdered several times over. "I didn't know bringing up symptoms as late as possible was in style. Thank you for this great revelation that you _just_ remembered. Diagnosis?"

"For rash, chills, fever, cough, and chest pain? The common flu or a cold."

House stared at him. "I totally forgot! It's ingenious to _treat for something twice when it failed to work the first time._" House shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Get your eyes off Cameron's chest and put them back on your patient."

"The last time she was out of the country," Cameron started uneasily, "was-"

"Woah!" House interrupted, sliding his feet off the table. "Wait… she works at a hair dresser's? That Mark's gay! _I knew it!_" House exclaimed. The team stared at him, not understanding nor finding it funny.

"Never mind." House sighed. "Continue."

"-was in 2002, when she and Mark," Cameron stopped, now understanding what House had meant earlier and briefly smiling at his crazy conclusion, "went to Canada."

House caught her eye when he realized she had understood. A look passed between them, for once not serious but humorous, and Cameron saw the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. She giggled and couldn't help grinning. He looked years younger when he was happy. Something in her chest did a little flip, and she desperately wanted to freeze that moment in her memory forever.

Sharing that look with Cameron, House had felt good, that finally one of his jokes was maybe not appreciated but at least understood. She was really pretty ad girlish when she giggled, he noted, and it made him feel warm inside. He totally forgot that Chase and Foreman were still in the room until Cameron broke the look, and House felt disappointed it had ended.

All of this happened barely over a few seconds, and luckily, neither Foreman nor Chase ad caught it. He tuned out for awhile afterwards, enjoying the happy sensation as long as it lasted, often looking at her to see if she was looking back at him. Cameron never did though; she seemed intensely concentrated on the case at hand. The truth was, as she stared at the papers, she was still sorting out what that look had meant – for herself and for House.

Chase and Foreman were still throwing out things they knew about Caroline, turning it into some sort of competition.

"Her dad died n a car crash just over a year ago." Foreman said, nothing medically relevant involved.

"She has a tattoo on her left butt cheek." Chase said, trying for a joke. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Dude." House finally broke the awkward silence. "One abbreviated word: TMI."

"What? I saw it during the LP!" Chase defended himself. "It was just a joke!"

"What kind of person checks out their patient's naked ass?" House exclaimed, and then stopped. "Oh wait. I do."

Cameron and Chase snorted in amusement. Foreman glanced at them angrily.

"Enough. She's dying; let's get back on track here."

House pouted. "Party pooper."

"He's right." Cameron said, receiving a stare from House.

"Fine. There's got to be _something_ we're missing." House said, turning serious once again as he returned his feet to their position on the table.

"What else do you want us to say?" Chase said. "There's nothing else."

"Then what's killing her?" His voice rose a bit, the frustration showing. Tired and fed up, the team stayed silent until House's cell rang. He flipped it open to see who was calling – Stacy. Surprise, anger, and dread flushed his face. He hesitated for a second, uncertainty paralyzing him, before coming back to reality. He shook his head at his team.

"Gotta take this call. Go check out her work place and test samples of whatever you find." He didn't wait for them to answer before heading into his office and shutting the door behind him.

"Hello." He said gruffly into the phone.

"Greg," Stacy's breath caught; a hint of surprise that he actually answered clear in her voice.

"That's the name."

"Oh, right, yeah, sorry. You don't usually answer, that's all."

"There's a reason for that."

"Right. Medical doctor. I've heard the excuses before."

He grunted in reply, not mentioning that he also didn't want to talk to her.

"Well, what the hell do you want? I have a patient dying—" He started harshly.

"A cigarette would be nice, but I can't smoke because I'm pregnant. Save the bullshit for someone who cares." Stacy snapped back. "She's not going to die in the next few minutes you can take to talk to me."

House's eyes stormed over but he stayed silent. He could hear her take in a sharp breath on the other end of the line, but she didn't offer an apology. He didn't deserve one, anyway.

"When will you get the blood?" She eventually asked, her voice emotionless and curt.

"Got it today." He answered just as shortly. "When's your test?"

"At the end of the first trimester, so in three weeks. Oh, and it's at Princeton-Plainsboro, by the way."

House was taken by surprise. He knew she obviously was going to do it in a hospital, but he hadn't really thought much about it. Correction- he tried _not_ to think about it. The curious itch of why she decided to do it here still pestered him, though. She obviously trusted the doctors here, but when she last came she'd been awfully secretive. He suppressed the desire to fire her with these questions.

Stacy laughed a cold sarcastic tone in her voice. "I know what you're thinking, and I know you're curious. I'm doing it there because that'll be the day I either say goodbye to it forever or welcome it as home. And, though I'd like to, I can't keep this a secret forever."

"Oh," He answered simply, slightly disappointed the answers had been easy to find out. He purposely kept his answers short and quick, assuring the communication of his hostility and dislike, even though it pained him and caused him great misery.

"Shit," Stacy swore, and despite everything, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. She hadn't changed in the least – some part of him admired her will to stay strong in all this change.

"Shit!" She repeated, with a little more enthusiasm. Whispering into the phone, she said, "I'll be back, Greg, but please, I beg you, don't say _anything_." With that, she was gone.

_She could've hung up,_ he thought, _we're done here_. Curiosity ebbed at him again, and he wondered why she'd left so abruptly. He strained to hear the faint voices talking on the other end.

"Who's that on the phone?" A familiar male voice demanded. _Of course! _The only reason Stacy would ask him to stay silent and leave the phone would be if Mark – her Mark, the Mark House loathed and envied – interrupted. Anger and hate welled inside of House, and he had to bite on his tongue to keep in a sarcastic snarl.

"Oh, just someone from work." Stacy brushed him off. House could imagine Mark's indignation and hurt at her short, brief, unhelpful answer. Back when Stacy and he had had the affair, Mark had told House he was pushing Stacy away. Now, it seemed House was witnessing the opposite. It was terrible and involuntary, but it made House's heart soar.

"I'll take it into the other room, honey," Stacy said sweetly to him, and it wasn't fake sincerity. She did love him, and House could hear it loud and clear in her voice.

Stacy shut the door and pressed an ear against it to make sure Mark had moved away. When she heard the limping shuffle slowly move away, she let out a wavering breath. A memory of doing the same to House flashed in her mind, the same tired limp-shuffle of his footsteps as he gave up and walked away after she had slammed a door on him. Tears stung at the back of her eyes – she wasn't trying to push him away at all, it just sort of happened.

She sank to the ground, a thoughtful hand on her belly, the other busy supporting her. She glanced at the phone. Silent, though she knew House was still on the other end. She stared down at it for a minute, for the whole scene seemed rather odd. She picked it back up.

"Back," she said in a quiet voice, clearly not trying to sound unsteady. House stayed silent, a hand caressing his stubble.

"I should go." He said coolly, even though it sent a rush of pain through his leg and all Stacy unmistakably wanted was comfort. She bit back a moan. Never, _ever_, had she felt so alone.

"Okay. Talk to you soon," she answered, her voice hard and stony.

"'Bye." House hung up and set the phone down on his desk. He leaned back in the chair, toying with a tennis ball in his hands.

Hearing the line go dead, Stacy threw the phone away. Still sitting on the floor, she leaned her head back against the heavy wooden door and closed her eyes, a hand lying on her crucifix. _Only 3 torturous weeks left, _she thought.

_Only three weeks left, _House mused. Three weeks left of semi-normal life. He shifted, pushing away the thoughts. Sighing, he got up and went to visit Wilson, finding him easily in his office.

"Ready to go now?" Wilson asked, getting up from behind his desk. "I've been waiting for hours. I need a break."

"Yeah," House answered quietly, staring thoughtfully at the floor.

"You sure are quiet today. Not too many sarcastic comments," Wilson commented, trying to poke his way into a conversation.

"Oh, shut up, can't one think?" House snapped.

"That's better." Wilson ignored him, locking the office door behind him. "My car?"

House nodded, stabbing the elevator with the butt of his cane and whistling impatiently. Wilson didn't say anything else.

"Shotgun!" House howled as they approached Wilson's old car. "Too stoned to drive."

"Clearly," Wilson muttered. "What did they mistake your Vicodin for this time?"

"Unfortunately, not something good like 'shrooms or even ecstasy." House pouted, sliding into the passenger seat as Wilson turned on the ignition.

"Where to?"

"The Dennis Township."

"Dennis! That's two hours away!"

"Then we better get going." House nodded, sliding his hat over his head and eyes and snoring immediately, leaving Wilson to drive for two hours. When they finally got there, Wilson incessantly lay down on the horn to wake House up. House jumped, startled, his snores cutting off as he looked up and around.

"Let's go," Wilson grumbled, looking up at the house. "Nice place," He said as House fumbled with the lock. House didn't answer, instead smiling and yelping some sort of victorious sound as he managed to open the door.

The cottage was indeed very nice, copying a traditional French style with the white plaster and criss-crossing dark brown beams. Every windowsill had a pretty bouquet of flowers, alternating red and yellow. It was fairly big for a cottage. Inside, the furnishings were slightly less spectacular and much more simple and practical then they were fashionable.

"The chest x-rays proved it was an infection," House explained, "So that's what we're looking for."

"I've got upstairs," Wilson called, and House nodded. He started in the living room, taking a sample from the fireplace. He checked all the corners and under the furniture, opening drawers ad such and sniffing everything. He didn't find much of interest and moved on to the kitchen. He took a sample from the garbage and swabbed some greenish gunk around the sink's tops. The pantry and cupboards were very clean, as was the complete dining room. House was in the middle of checking the downstairs bathroom when Wilson bounced down the stairs, having finished the second floor.

"Not much upstairs of interest. Not that she'd breathe in, anyway." Wilson reported. House nodded, than froze, stiffly looking up at Wilson. "Repeat that?"

"That." Wilson smirked.

"Impressive. How old are you again?" House growled, a warning in his voice that quickly ended Wilson's pleasure.

"Nothing useful upstairs, not that she'd breathe in, anyway." Wilson repeated more slowly, puzzlement only slightly perceptible in his voice. House didn't say anything else as his face light up in epiphanic realization. Without warning he quickly hurried by Wilson and outside, heading directly for the thick forest behind the house.

"Where are you going? The house is back there." Wilson said as he trailed him. House was in a concentrated trance, and it was really no use trying to talk to him. Wilson knew this, having witnessed it countless times before, but at least he tried to snap him out of it. Wilson eventually, as always, gave up and cautiously followed House deeper into the woods.

"We should get back; it's really easy to get lost in a forest." Wilson tried unsuccessfully.

"Just a little farther," a determined House answered, and a few minutes later he stopped walking. He knelt down near a rotting log, covering his mouth and nose with his jacket and motioning for Wilson to do the same.

"Blastomycosis," He said, shaking his head, his voice muffled through the fabric. "Rare infection that lives in rotting vegetation." Wilson knelt beside him as House took a sample. "Fits all the symptoms, including the sweating and possibly the weight loss. Inhaled through the lungs. When I was talking with Mark, he said she loved it out here to breathe in the fresh air. And, she lives literally in The Middle of Nowhere, Dennis Township, New Jersey. She's far from her neighbors, so it's possible she was the only one affected when she left Mark inside to take a smoke. The rash even confirms it."

Wilson nodded. "Perfect, and curable."

House checked his watch. "As long as we get back before she dies."

* * *

Back at the hospital, Wilson stumbled out of the car, face green. House had driven all the way home, speeding ad jerking the car this way and that across the highway lanes in an attempt to get back in time. Dizzy, Wilson unsteadily followed a barely queasy House into the front doors.

"C'mon, c'mon!" House repeatedly pressed the up button for the elevator, agitated. The color had slowly returned to Wilson's face but the time the doors clanged open. House fumbled with his pager as he quickly alerted his team.

Everyone got back to the office at relatively the same time. Silently, they all filed into the room, faces expectant.

"It's blastomycosis," House diagnosed. "Fits all the symptoms except kidney failure, but that's easily explained by the misuse of clarithromycin."

The team absorbed this each in turn, slowly nodding. It made faultless sense.

"Very easily could be," Foreman agreed. "She lives in the country in the middle of the woods."

"Her symptoms are still easily explainable by other infections. We can't be certain," Cameron argued.

"For once, can you not fight heart and soul – literally – with everything that comes out of my mouth?" House growled at her. "It's perfect!"

"But not confirmed," Cameron calmly responded. "We can confirm with that lung biopsy."

"She doesn't have that time. We have to start treatment." House said. "Start her on fluconazole." Nobody moved an inch, and Chase shook his head.

"Fluconazole is too dangerous. Not without being positive."

"What else do you need?!" House exclaimed angrily. "The rash, the rotting log, the country, it explains everything! If she dies because of your stubborn refusal to let me do my job, we'll find it in the autopsy. You all will never be able to live it down."

"That's better than knowing we let you kill her."

House dramatically tossed his hands up in the air in mock defeat. "Fine," he exclaimed. "I knew you'd do this, so I got a sample from the woods. Hurry up and check it out in pathology before our little lovebirds are torn apart by death." He said, his voice sinister.

A few hours later, the test came back positive. House's diagnosis confirmed (again), he prescribed fluconazole and made a very pale Caroline take it orally immediately. She had literally been on the brink of death, and Mark had barely left her bedside. He was now holding her hand firmly in his.

Cuddy and Wilson observed this as the stood outside the room, looking in through the glass.

"Well, he did it again." Wilson stated, leaning an arm on the glass and turning to look at Cuddy.

She shook her head, a smile on her lips. "I can't believe it. He never fails to amaze."

Wilson raised an eyebrow at her, wondering momentarily if there were more than just medical reasons behind that statement. _There probably isn't, he_ scolded himself. _Stop acting like House!_ He knew Cuddy well; she was a good friend. And she wasn't interested in House. He didn't press it. "He never fails in the end, period."

Cuddy chuckled. "Medically, maybe. But he's an expert and failing in other areas."

Again she received the questioning eyebrow, but she ignored Wilson, keeping her eyes trained on the activity inside the room.

"I know." She told Wilson, who stared at her dumbly for a second. "I know everything that's going on. Stacy. All of it." She crossed her arms, briefly looking at him.

"Oh." _That explains a lot,_ he thought. "I didn't think he'd consent. I thought he'd just alienate her more." Wilson admitted as he looked back in at House.

She shrugged, looking at the oncologist's reflection in the glass. "This could be good for him."

Wilson met her gaze through the glass. "Or it could be very, very, _very _bad. It'd be better for all of us if it was Mark's kid." He shook his head sorrowfully. "House and Stacy's relationship has always been rather rocky, to say the least. That relationship has always ended painfully."

"Don't they all?" Cuddy replied, an unknown sadness in her voice. Before Wilson could answer, House slid the glass door open and stepped outside with them.

"Sorry to interrupt your daily gossip, but can I go home now?" He whined. Cuddy chuckled, receiving curious stares from both men.

"Good job, House. See you tomorrow," she said over her shoulder, walking away.

"Tomorrow as in when you wake up next to me naked?" He called hopefully after her. No response. "As a reward?" He tried desperately, but Cuddy took no notice as she opened the door into the night. For a bit, he two friends watched as Caroline and Mark smiled joyously and celebrated. She already looked a lot better. In a flurry of their tears and hugs, Wilson spoke up.

"Maybe he'll learn his lesson and ask her out, with the near death experience and all," he offered, referring to Mark.

"Almost dying changes nothing. He won't. If she had died, he'd be confessing his love right now over her body." House answered his voice low in volume and despondent. Wilson sighed.

"Would you rather be the miserable and sarcastic man out here or the cheerful happy-go-lucky man in there, House?"

"Yeah, I've always secretly wanted to be a hair dresser." House motioned sarcastically. Almost tiredly, Wilson shook his head. "Nice deflection." After a moment of silence he added on, "Good night, I'm going home."

House didn't acknowledge this as Wilson started walking away. He put on a masked expression. He wanted to add something, to tell Wilson he wasn't okay but without flat out saying so. He couldn't find a way to; couldn't even manage a whispered and chocked _'Wilson…'_ His friend was down the hall when House refused to let him leave by saying in a reserved voice: "It should've been easy."

Wilson stopped, but he didn't turn around. He listened for the standard step-pause-click-swing of house's gate as he approached from behind. As usual, House felt the words tumble out of him without him willing them to do so.

"Blastomycosis is such an easy diagnosis. It's rare, but I normally test for it when there are no other ideas. She shouldn't have almost died. Cuddy should've taken me off the case."

Wilson turned around then. "House. Your ex-girlfriend just told you she is _pregnant_. I think we can let this one slide."

"It doesn't possibly have anything to do with me. It doesn't mean anything; it won't affect me if I don't let it."

"And that's why your leg is hurting right now so much more? Because it doesn't affect you? And that's why you're completely distracted and zoning out? Because it doesn't affect you?"

"I knew you'd give this lecture sooner or later." Aggravation climbed up in his voice. "How'd you know about the leg? I never told you."

"The heaviness of you gait. I can hear it." Wilson confessed. "You're human, House. You'll make mistakes with your relationships and with medicine. Yeah, you'll lose the girl now and then, and yeah, someone will die. It doesn't mean you should obsess over it and question your whole medical judgement."

"If there's a direct link between a rare infectious disease and my sperm, I knew you'd be able to find it." House averted as he slid his eyes from side to side.

"Let it be. No one died, and everything's all right." Wilson reassured, and House indignantly popped another pill.

"When there's Stacy, there's pain. When there's pain, my medical judgement screws up. Therefore to eliminate the pain, I must get rid of the original problem, which is Stacy."

"You can't rationalize this. I'm sure you found a way to mess up the blood sample anyway, so what do you have to worry about?"

"You figuring out that relation and tying it to cancer."

"You have no proof that it's 'of your creation' yet."

"No, but… they haven't exactly been physical lately."

"You broke into Stacy's file? _Again?_ Why am I still surprised? And could that possibly be because someone –"

"Found the guy of her dreams and then made him a friggin' cripple before running away and marrying some pathetic guidance counsellor?"

"Screwed around-"

"If I get what you're saying-"

"With the girl of his dreams and now he's paying the price."

"Yeah, the price with someone's _life_? I can't do that. It's not worth it."

"Really, or is that just what you _want _so desperately to believe?"

"Oh, that was _very _deep. You should've been a shrink."

Wilson just waved a hand, a sign that he'd had enough. "If you're just going to deflect and ignore, then I'm not going to say anything else. Good night, House." Wilson called as he followed Cuddy's footsteps. House watched him go before swinging by his office, throwing his bag over his left shoulder. He turned off the light and locked it up for the night. It was dark outside, and House was glad to get home. He set down all his work things and shook off the leather jacket.

Cuddy got home as well, feeling very calm. She felt satisfied and content. The big house tended to feel empty, and she longed for the sound of children. She smiled to herself as she curled up on the couch. She'd just gotten an implantation at her last IVF appointment. She made herself a celebratory cup of tea. She was finally going to be a mother!

After awhile, house found himself sitting at his piano. He popped a Vicodin into his mouth, his leg being even more of a nuisance since Wilson pointed it out. His mind couldn't decide what emotion to take on. He felt proud and confident after the right diagnosis, desperate and lonely after his phone call with Stacy, annoyed but grateful towards Wilson, and unexplainably about both Cuddy and Cameron. His heart felt heavy, a sinking sensation in his gut, but his mind felt light, as if it were soaring.

To forget these mixed emotions, he started playing. He let his heart guide his fingers, not reading off any sheet music nor playing a memorized piece. The piece he played was very different- sometimes fast and festive, other times mournful and full of suspense. He stated to calm down, the music secretly displaying and opening all his torment and unheard of happiness to the world.

He always found music – playing, especially – the best possible therapy, even better than drugs or video games. When he played, he was no longer trapped inside the curmudgeon old body with a terrible, life-ruining pain-filled leg, but instead weightless as he drifted among melodies. There was something purifying and healing about that.

Slowly, gently, he allowed himself to float back down to reality, ending his musical rant with a solid, fat note he let ring out into the night. As it faded away, he sighed, disappointed at always having to come back down to earth and not lose himself in his music forever. _It's a real shame_, he thought, _that all good things must come to an end._

**Oh gee, I just _love _ending on a foreboding note. And I really love these Wilson/House scenes. The mystery behind our dear Cuddy's niceness has been solved. I think her situation will add a whole other degree to the story, don't you? And they'll most definitely be some Cameron action too, don't you worry. For some reason, all my chapters are once again doubling in length. Huh. Creds to my bestest medical beta reader! Please review! Please? It'd make my day if you did... C'mon. Be nice!**


	5. The Waiting

**Finally! I know, I know. Excuse any typos and grammar mistakes, I was rushed when editing. Hope you guys enjoy it.**

A week and a bit later, House woke up to a blaring alarm clock. Grumbling, his mind still foggy with sleep, he stretched out and arm and slammed down on the snooze button. He then lay motionless in bed, enjoying the silence as he collected his thoughts and prepared himself for the day. He listened to the rain patter on the windows. He really didn't feel like going to work today - well, he never felt like going to work _any_ day – but especially not today. Stacy's test loomed in just under two weeks, and House dreaded facing the people that knew about it. He sighed, and off his alarm went again, announcing the start of the day.

House swung his legs over and onto the floor as he did every day. His leg screeched in pain at the sudden movement, and House clamped his teeth shut in agony. With a grimace, he turned his upper body, grabbing for the Vicodin bottle on the nightstand. Barely able to hold back his need, he forced himself to slow down his desperate movements as he stared hungrily at the white pill in his hand. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed it greedily, his breathing returning to normal as the pain dulled. He stood and hobbled slowly to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He relieved himself and then climbed into the awaiting shower, taking a long time as he relished the hot water. When he climbed out three-quarters if an hour later, he was late for work, but the hot water had managed to relieve most of the pain.

Shielding himself against the rain, he relied heavily on his cane as he ran out to his car. Tossing the cane on to the passenger seat, he took a moment to massage his leg. Shaking his head, he eagerly burned the tires and laughed like a maniac as the car squealed and reeled away from the sidewalk. He sped all the way to the hospital, skidding into his parking space and striding into the hospital, despite the fact his leg was slowly aching again, much more than usual. He shook it off, joining Cameron in the elevator.

"Morning." She greeted him, holding two coffees. He reached over and grabbed one. "Aw, thanks."

"That was Foreman's…" She muttered, but House ignored her, taking a sip.

"Shouldn't you have the black one running the chores? Isn't that what he's meant to do?" He took another gulp. "Then again, the kitchen is the women's domain." He trailed off thoughtfully, and Cameron glared at him. The doors clicked open, and the pair walked out of the elevator.

"Is your leg hurting? You seem to be heavily relying on your left side." Cameron commented, as this was the truth.

"It's fine. Nothing one of these babies can't fix." He snapped, sliding a pill into his mouth. Cameron made no attempt to hide her disapproval. They walked along the hallway until House stopped abruptly in front of a patient's room. Cameron walked a few more steps and then looked back at him in surprise. She walked back to him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. House had never shown interest in any random patient before just by looking at them. He stiffened, trapped in some sort of thoughtful daze, and Cameron was left to stare on, wondering what on earth he was thinking of.

"What do you see?" She prodded tentatively turning back to the scene in the room. The patient was a young girl, maybe about 12 years old, and her family – her mother, father, and younger brother, who must've been no older than 8. She frowned, this was ordinary, and certainly not anything House would ever usually stop for.

Fear, pain, anger and longing each briefly flashed in House's eyes, paralyzing him for another minute. He lowered his voice. "That man is not that patient's biological father."

Cameron glanced at him, but his expression had turned unreadable again. "How can you tell?"

House took a distracted sip of coffee, helping to muffle his screaming thoughts. "Their eyes. His and her mother's eyes are blue, yet the patient's are brown. It's not possible they're related.

Cameron looked thoughtfully at each pair of eyes in the room. He was right. The father had light blue eyes and fluffy brown hair, and the daughter had deep brown eyes. On the other hand, the mother had deeper blue eyes.

"How do you know it's not the mother?" She demanded smugly. His interest lost, House shrugged and kept walking. "She and her mother both have blonde hair."

There was no flaw in his reasoning, she admitted. She checked over her shoulder at the room number. Surprised, she turned back to House.

"Looks like you'll be able to do a paternity test." Cameron said, catching up with him. "She's our patient."

House didn't miss a beat, and his reaction completely baffled Cameron. "I don't want the case."

"Wha-Nevermind. That's too bad; you're going to have to take it."

"According to who?" He asked as they approached the office.

"According to Cuddy." She shot back.

House paused before answering. "_Damn_." Smugly, Cameron opened the door and followed House into the office, where the team was waiting. Cameron slid into her seat, Foreman staring at her expectantly.

"What happened to my coffee?" He asked, irritation edging his voice. Cameron didn't even look at him as she gestured in House's direction.

"He happened." She replied shortly, and Foreman turned to his boss.

"That's my coffee!"

"Really? I didn't see your name on it." House sneered, settling into a chair, hiding a grimace as he massaged his leg. Annoyed, Foreman shook his head, giving up as he left to go get himself a coffee.

"You okay?" Chase asked, motioning to his leg.

"I'm fine!" House growled. "Can we please start focusing on the case?" He shifted grumpily. Cameron sighed; it was going to be a long day. Chase raised his eyebrows, unconvinced, but looked down at his papers, dropping the matter. He knew he wouldn't have gotten anywhere, anyway.

"Twelve year old girl presents with diagnosed angiokeratomas, as well acroparestesia and kidney complications." Chase read.

"Ouch." House commented. "Aaaaand differential diagnosis. Go!"

"Angiokeratomas is a distinct condition, not usually a symptom, are we sure that's what it is?" Cameron asked.

"The first thing they did when she was admitted was biopsy the legions." Chase said. "And because of that and the other symptoms, the case got to Cuddy and then got to here. Acroparestesia is usually caused by damage to the peripheral nerves."

"Your point?"

"Could be something directly damaging the peripheral nerves, like a toxin."

"That also causes angiokeratomas? Nope."

"Useless." House coughed. "Tell me something I don't know?"

"These symptoms together are strange – maybe poisoning? A neurological problem?" Chase offered.

House stared at him. "Even more useless. It's angiokeratomas, not a rash or allergic reaction." Then he laughed. "You're both so blind."

Both Chase and Cameron looked at him, dumfounded.

"You know what it is!" Cameron accused.

"You knew it before you asked for a differential!"

"Well, it is obvious. And I clicked in with Chase's whole peripheral blah blah speech." House defended himself. "Especially since the angiokeratomas have been diagnosed."

"I thought you said my peripheral blah blah speech was useless?"

"I was referring to you in general." House clarified.

Silence filtered the room. "Really? I'm disappointed. It's Fabry disease." He said, leaning back with a arrogant expression. "Duh."

Both fellows exhaled in exasperation and understanding. "Damn, I should've gotten that!" Chase exclaimed.

"Damn right you should have. I bet Foreman would've." House scoffed just as Foreman entered to room with his coffee.

"You just missed the shortest diagnosis in the world. We're already certain what it is." Chase said smugly.

"I doubt it. So what are the symptoms?"

"It's Fabry disease." Cameron cut in. Foreman stopped and stared around the room.

"You're serious? You finished the diagnosis?" He asked, disbelief still burning in his eyes and tone. "No way."

"Uh, yes way." House said. "I actually got the answer in the matter of a couple of minutes."

"Of course you did." Foreman rolled his eyes. "I bet you a hundred bucks this was the wrong diagnosis."

"Oh, you're so on!" House immediately exclaimed, slamming a fist down onto the table for emphasis. "That was a stupid deal to make, considering you haven't even glanced at the symptoms."

Foreman paled, and then snatched away the papers from Chase. "Damn." He muttered after a minute. "Clearly Fabry disease."

House turned to Cameron and Chase with a smirk. "Told you he'd get it." He tilted his head back to Foreman. "Show me the moula!"

"No," Foreman said uneasily, "it still might be-"

House gave him a look. "We both know it isn't. Gimme!" He stretched out his hand, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

With a resigned sigh, Foreman pulled out his wallet and handed over the hundred dollars, which House flaunted gleefully.

"So, that's it? We're done? We confirm and giver her pain medication and release her?" Cameron asked.

"We can try offering an ERT…" Chase said.

"Those cost a fortune." Foreman said. "I doubt they can afford it, but you can try."

"I'll go confirm with an enzyme essay and then give the options." Cameron said. "Then we'll prescribe and release." She got up and (tried to) make her way to the door, but House thrust his cane in front of her and causing a barrier.

"Ah, ah, ah!" He scolded. "Nuh-uh, not so fast! Look at her family history, there's two parts we still have to discuss. First off, she has a little brother we should test, and secondly, there's no history of Fabry disease."

"So it's not Fabry?" Foreman said hopefully.

"No. It means that's not her biological father. So, you offer the drugs, test and examine the brother, and run a paternity test. You do not release her – make up a reason."

"You want to keep her hostage?" Chase asked doubtfully.

"No, I want to find her biological father." House replied firmly. "Go. All of you. Scat!"

* * *

After a gruelingly painful walk down to the Clinic, House was grateful when he reached Cuddy's office. His leg had been screaming in pain since he first got up, and it hadn't stopped. The Vicodin was barely keeping it bearable, and a fine shine of sweat covered his forehead. He was managing fairly well with masking the pain, but every so often he slipped, and it flashed in his eyes. He was struggling and he was losing. He opened the door to her office and stumble in, leaning heavily on his cane. If Cuddy had heard him come in, she didn't show it. She kept her back to him, leaning over her desk and apparently arranging something. House opened his mouth to say something, and then got distracted, tilting his head back to get a better view of her rear. She was, as usual, wearing a simple but tight-fitting skirt and a low-necked blouse. The truth was Cuddy had heard him come in and had also figured out he was probably enjoying the view, but she wasn't really in a mood for dealing with him. House shook his head and blinked a few times, dragging his gaze up to the back of her head.

He started. "I need-"

"No, you can't have time to go see The Cure live in Boston." She cut him off shortly.

_Damn,_ though House. He'd come to ask Cuddy for more pills because lately she'd acted all strange – sympathetic and caring. Apparently, when House actually needed the sympathy, she had none. He loathed charity – but right now, the pain in his leg was making him delirious. He glanced at the calendar hanging in the wall and winced – she was menstruating, and this clearly was not the appropriate week to bug her.

He lowered his voice to an almost-human tone, a trick that usually got him what he wanted. "I need more pills. A stronger prescription or something."

Cuddy laughed coldly. "I can assure you that that is the one thing you don't need."

"Cuddy-" He pleaded, getting desperate. He stopped when a new wave of pain engulfed him, causing black spots in his vision. He let out a strangled breath, which Cuddy heard, and she wheeled around.

"Oh gosh," she inhaled, than helped him into a chair. "You don't look very good." She said.

"I wonder why?""He snapped, irritation and pain wheezing in his voice. "Please, give me something-"

"How bad does it hurt, one to ten?" She cut him off again, sliding into the seat across from him. He grimaced.

"Try a million." He pursed his lips. "Can we skip the pointless medical question and get on with the medication? I need morphine."

Cuddy looked at him, still hesitant.

"Give me the damn shot!" he yelled, eyes fluttering closed. Cuddy moved into action, closing the blinds and filing through her cabinets for the syringe. She slid it into his arm muscle, giving the injection before she could think twice about it.

House sighed. "Thank you."Cuddy didn't answer, discarding the syringe and washing her hands. House didn't move, instead lying back into the chair, breathing deeply. When she was finished, she joined him.

After awhile of studying him, she asked something that had been bugging her. "Why'd you ask me and not Wilson?"

House didn't answer right away, and kept his eyes closed, not so much out of relief then out of avoidance of her gaze. "'Cause he'd give me a whole lecture about how the pain reflects my mental state, mainly focusing on Stacy and related topics, before giving me the shot. I needed it immediately – with you, I knew your heart would give out and you'd give me the shot first and ask the questions later. Then I could leave for the questions or use the morphine to my advantage." He said softly, fidgeting his cane.

"Oh," Cuddy said as she absorbed this.

"And now the questions start." He sighed heavily, but made no attempt to leave. Cuddy's gaze softened. She had tons of questions she wanted to torture him with, but no words to phrase them.

"So how's your case going? Any ideas?" she decided to start simple.

"Solved. It's Fabry disease."

Cuddy looked rather shocked. "Oh… okay. I'll find you another case."

"No need, I'm not done with this one yet." He replied, voice sounding tired. "The father isn't the biological dad."

That was the clue Cuddy had been looking for. Suddenly this all made obvious sense – that case would undoubtedly have a huge effect on House. On top of that, it had been a case she'd assigned to him. Sympathy flashed in her pupils. "I can take you off it," she offered. He shook his head, finally opening his eyes.

"I don't need your sympathy." He stated, voice flat and rather rude. "Save it for your loser children." He waved a dismissing hand and exited the office abruptly, a little lighter on the cane. Cuddy watched him go, mouth slightly agape, with one hand placed firmly on her belly.

* * *

"Tested positive," Cameron announced, facing Foreman and Chase. "Let's go tell them."

The men nodded, and silently the team made their way through the bustling hospital hallways. Before they entered the patient's room, though, Chase took a firm step forward and planted himself in front of his colleagues.

"So how are we going to do this?" He asked, searching Cameron and Foreman's faces each in turn. "Are we going to do this secretly or just flat-out tell the patient that's not her real dad?"

"House would want this done in a sneaky way, though I have no idea how we're going to find out more information. The man has to consent to a paternity test and all." Cameron said.

"Sooner or later, the secret will be out. Nothing stays a secret here anyway." Foreman agreed. Chase raised his hands. "I personally don't want House on my back, so let's see if we can get the information out of the mother before asking for the test." The others nodded their agreement, and they slid open the door and stepped into the bright room.

"Did you figure out what's wrong?" the mother said hopefully, rising from her seat and looking expectantly at their faces. Cameron found it hard to meet her eyes.

"Yes, you have a condition called angiokeratoma corporis diffusium, or Fabry disease. It's not curable, but it's not fatal. We can offer some medication to help ease the pain." Foreman said, addressing Annie, the patient. The family sat quietly for a moment as they absorbed this news.

"Well, what are the meds?" The father, Mr Cathridge, asked.

"There are several options. There are a few pain management pills and anti-inflammatory pills to choose from. They'll all help dull and soothe the pain. There are also ERTs, or enzyme replacement treatments, that will make life easier and more comfortable."

Silence settled as the room's occupants considered the treatments and pills. With one glance at her husband, Mrs Cathridge looked back up at her daughter's doctors. "Can we talk to you outside?" She said quietly. Chase nodded, opening the doors the adults filtered out of the room.

"So there's no cure?" She asked quietly, and Mr Cathridge wrapped an arm reassuringly over her shoulders.

"We're sorry." Foreman said.

"How much are the medications? The ERTs?" Mr Cathridge asked as his wife buried her head in his shoulder.

"They're a new research, so about 200 000 dollars annually," Chase said, watching the man in front of him take in a sharp breath.

"There are other options, and ERT's aren't a cure." Cameron put in quickly. "She'll be fine with pain management pills."

They nodded, understanding. "I just don't get it – What caused this?" Mrs Cathridge demanded.

"I-uh… I-it's-" Cameron stuttered, having almost automatically said 'it's hereditary'.

"We don't, uh, know," Chase lied quickly, cutting in, "That's why we have to keep her here a little while longer." He shared a quick glance with Cameron, and her eyes flashed with uncertainty. The Cathridges stared suspiciously at the team, but soon dropped the subject.

"We need to draw blood from her as well as your son." When alarm flashed in the parents' eyes, Foreman added quickly, "We don't think he has it, it's just precautionary." The parents relaxed and consented, and Chase disappeared into the room to collect the blood along with the parents.

Agitation flared off of Foreman. "I hate always tip-toeing around for House. It' pointless; he's just trying to play games."

Cameron nodded, frowning. "Why can't we just tell them? We're going to have to sooner or later. He _is _just turning this into a game." _All the same_, she thought, _this wasn't exactly the typical House behaviour_. Maybe it was, but she still thought something was up. "I'm going to go ask him." She decided, and whirled away before Foreman could answer. Cameron's mind was spinning, and she didn't bother to shift through and sort her thoughts; she mainly focused on her concern and curiosity. She knew House well enough to know he'd be hiding, but Wilson's office, the exam rooms, and the nurse's lounge were empty. She wound up in the locker room, and, of course, he was there, listening to music. She didn't go in, preferring to stay at the door.

"I don't get it. Why are you making us dance around this case? Why can't we just tell them and get this paternity test over with?"

He hit the pause button and looked up at her. Sarcasm tinted his voice. "I thought you'd agree with me, Miss Care-a-lot. You know, that whole ripping-apart-people's-lives-apart-when-it's-not-n ecessary scheme."

"So why can't we just do it?" She ignored him.

"Many reasons. We'll have to see if the brother tests positive or not. I was hoping we wouldn't even have to test the dad. We just have to find a brown-eyed man with Fabry disease. It can't be too hard. Sleep with any lately? I know you have a fetish to fix the incurable." He paused for a moment. "Also, legally, it's not necessary for us to perform a paternity test as nothing medical can come out of it. And lastly, I didn't want to unnecessarily ruin their lives." At the last sentence his voice turned from sarcastic to almost sincere. It made Cameron uneasy, as she now had no idea how he actually felt.

"Bullshit." She snorted. "Since when do you care about your patients?"

Anger burned in House's eyes as he met her gaze. "Since when do you care about when I care about my patients?"

"Because I care about you! Is it a crime to care about someone yet not love them? I wasn't aware." She shot back defiantly. He stood up, his movements rigid with anger and eyes cold as he met her at the door. She could clearly see his eyes now; they burned with fury and pain, barely a few inches away from her own. She held his gaze, her face grimly determined.

"You're not better than everyone else because of your ethics," he growled. "Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone lies. And ethics can make you do both, as you're doing now." He warned, letting the words linger and scrutinizing her face, but Cameron didn't flinch. She didn't react, instead keeping the same look.

"And no one is always right about their assumptions." She answered coolly. He ignored her.

"If you want me to do something, I'll go do it now. Are you coming?" He changed the subject back to the case, glaring at her as he marched by. Cameron nodded, looking away as she trailed him. Too easily, she was lost in her own thoughts, and they continued in a taught silence. The anger eventually died inside of her boss, but he kept up the hard expression. They neared the patient's room and reality hit Cameron; she hesitantly worried of what House had in mind.

"Don't do something stupid." She muttered as he entered the room.

"When don't I?" he hissed back, putting on a fake grin as he turned back to the expectant family. Cameron silently slipped up to stand beside him.

"Good day," House said in that irritating fake tone he used around patients. Cameron managed a faint smile before nervously glancing at House, who ignored her and continued to speak. "Can we talk to Mrs Cathridge – _alone_ – please?"

Immediately Mr Cathridge jumped up. "Why can't I know? If it's about Annie, I'd like to know!"

The smile vanished from House's face. "Because by alone I obviously meant the two of you. Nobody ever acknowledges the word 'alone' anymore. It's really quite a beautiful word." He ushered Mrs Cathridge in front of him and physically blocked her husband.

"Don't worry, honey, I'm sure you'll find out later." She smiled regretfully at her husband as House slammed shut the door and jammed it closed so the husband was trapped. Cameron stared in alarm at him.

"Did you just jam the door?"

House looked at her, seemingly surprised. "Did I? Well then." Cameron eyed him warily, still in the dark about what he planned to do and anxious about the door. He turned back to a confused Mrs Cathridge.

"How long have you two been married?" He asked pleasantly. She gave her husband, still trying to open the door frantically, a long look, before turning warily back to House. Cameron stared at him just as dumbfounded. He had to piss off a husband, and then go break hospital protocol; just to ask one spouse _how long they were married_?

"14 years… Why?" She watched distractedly as her husband dashed across and pressed the panic button.

"Thank you. You can go back now." He ignored the nurses as they rushed up behind him and tried to open the door, calling Cuddy frantically. He pulled a Cameron to the side, who was watching the going-on, "Walk," he said, "Before Cuddy gets here."

The led a startled but recovering Cameron away. "See, that is why we are not doing the paternity test. He clearly has no idea the kid's not his. She probably got bored after the first year of married life and screwed around. Everyone makes mistakes."

Cameron, still a little shocked, looked disgusted at this news. "And everybody pays the price." She sighed. "Fine, we'll play your game. But you realize he'll find out eventually, right?"

House nodded briefly before Cameron continued. "So what do you want us to do?"

"Call me when you get the results for the other kid. Tomorrow you can start rifling the mother for answers. I'm avoiding Cuddy, ergo going home." He said, and limped hurriedly away without a farewell.

* * *

Later in the evening, Cuddy unlocked the door and entered her home. Impatiently, she set the groceries she'd bought on the table and shrugged off her coat. After messily hanging up the latter and her scarf, she urgently beelined for her bedroom.

Urgency pulsed in her mind, pushing everything else away. Almost everything, at least- the scenes with House much earlier in the day poked at the edge of her concentration. Jesus, it seemed all she ever thought about was that man and his crazy pranks.

It was strange; the scene in her office had been replaying in her head all day. Although the whole jamming-the-door stunt had pissed her off to the extreme, as it had forced her to stay hours later than planned and House refused to pick up, the whole previous conversation before that annoyed and yet fascinated her. She shrugged it off; she was probably just concerned for his leg and well-being. There was just something about it that enticed her. It was irrational, but Cuddy did care for him, and she wouldn't deny herself that. After all, it wasn't every day he practically begged her for help instead of verbally abusing her. Heck, he hadn't even commented on her outfit.

She quickly changed into more comfortable clothing, having no plans for the night still stretching out before her. She decided on sweats and an old t-shirt. She then made herself a quick meal, uncertainty and hesitance circling her in the silence as she ate. For awhile, the thoughts on House were gone, but they made their way back like an unrelenting boomerang.

Maybe it unnerved her because he'd mentioned her personal life. She hadn't told him how far she'd gone with the in vitroimplantation, but it was like he _knew_. This made her uneasy, but not to this degree. After all, she'd gotten used to his comments.

The only other conclusion Cuddy could draw was that she felt uneasy about his personal life, but she thought that was ridiculous. It was probably just because, like Wilson said, the odds were his situation with Stacy would end with him getting hurt. This affected Cuddy because, of course, she would share the ghastly job of picking up the pieces alongside Wilson. Yes, this must be the reason, and any other possibilities Cuddy refused to acknowledge.

She washed her dishes and then returned to her bedroom. One bag from the store had remained untouched and was lying on her bed. She suddenly felt queasy looking at it, taking in a deep breath. She approached it, slowly sliding out its contents – a pregnancy test.

As if moving in a dream, she floated to the bathroom off her bedroom, refusing to look at the foreboding technology in her hands. She silently shut the door behind her, turning on the light.

When she was finished, she washed her hands slowly and dried hem with a towel. She didn't understand why she was so nervous – the last appointment had only been a few days ago, and the nurse had said there were some minor complications, but she hadn't seemed too concerned. With one steadying look at her reflection in the mirror, she glared down at the test.

Three red letters glared back: NEG. Disbelieving, she took a second look, tapping the screen. Nothing happened, and the cold reality sank in.

Tears flooded her eyes and her breathing hitched. Those three letters had made her world crash down. She squeezed her eyes shut, the action causing a few tears to escape and slide down her cheeks.

After awhile, she'd relaxed, but the sadness surrounded her like a black storm cloud. The lonely, silent house pressed down on her. She was in a sour mood – filled with depression, anger, grief, and longing. She changed again into a night gown and slid under the sheets, but it took an achingly long time before sleep relieved her.

* * *

The following morning greeted House with his phone incessantly ringing. He blinked his eyes open, majorly disoriented, then groaned. He flipped over, flailing for his cell. His leg voiced its protest, and he quickly detoured towards the Vicodin. He popped a pill, and enjoyed a moment of silence as his phone stopped ringing. He half-heartedly hoped whoever it was wouldn't call back, but he knew they would. Sure enough, off it went again, and House resumed his search. Finding it and tangled in his sheets, he checked the number. Five missed calls from Foreman – and counting.

"Great," he said sourly, flipping open the phone. "House."

"I know. Most people pick up after the first ring." Foreman's voice was flat and bland.

House grunted in response, sliding off the bed and reaching for his cane. He limped into the kitchen, putting a bagel into the toaster and pushing down the lever.

"The brother tested negative," Foreman informed.

"Well, that limits our search down to a blond, brown-eyed, Fabry-disease-suffering male who was only with the mother 9 to 12 years ago."

"Incredibly easy to find," Foreman said dryly. "What do you want to do now?"

"Ask the mother. Say it's medical, whatever."

"Alright; see you soon." He hung up, and House heard the line briefly go dead before he did the same. He flipped the phone in his hand before retrieving his newly toasted bagel.

Foreman slipped the cell back into his pocket. Cameron and Chase both turned their attention back to him in the busy hall where they stood.

"He said to go in. Who wants to?"

"I will." Cameron volunteered. She couldn't explain it, but with her last conversation with House a burning curiosity had started a fire, interlaced with concern among other feelings. Confusion squeezed around the flames, leaving her lost and tired.

Chase and Foreman stared at her dubiously.

"Last time you failed miserably," Chase said, and Cameron ignored him. "I personally vote Foreman."

"I vote Chase," Foreman said at the same time, staring at him. Cameron, amused, stepped back and watched.

"You're more likely to keep your cool and not reveal anything." Chase started.

"You're more likely to get the answers faster. People like you," Foreman argued.

"And you both nominated each other so that the other didn't have to do it." Cameron added. "I already said I'd do it."

Foreman whirled around to face her. "No matter what, a break is not worth sending you in there. I'd like to keep my job." Cameron looked offended and crossed her arms.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Chase offered. Foreman stared at him to see if he was serious, and after deciding he was, agreed, albeit embarrassedly.

"Children," Cameron muttered, secretly curious to see how this would end. After beating Chase two out of three, Foreman grinned.

"Looks like you're up," Foreman said to an angry-looking Chase, waving a farewell over his shoulder.

"Damn," Chase swore, then without looking at Cameron, he walked into the patient's room, failing at a cheery face.

"Can I please talk to Mrs Cathridge?" He said bluntly, giving a warning glance at Mr Cathridge. The man looked troubled and frustrated but didn't object. After a fraction of a second of hesitation, Mrs Cathridge followed Chase out into the hall. He led the way through the familiar hospital hallways, and after walking a bit and assuring they were in a completely different part of the building. He motioned for her to sit, taking a seat himself. His mood had calmed and resignation at working had worn off, replaced by an actual curiosity he didn't concede.

"Have you ever had an affair? It's medically important…" He started, his voice soft yet abrupt. Mrs Cathridge was clearly not expecting this as surprise flashed across her face. Chase searched her eyes intently for any alarm or nervousness, but he found nothing he could work with.

"No! Why would you ask?" She replied, her voice tinted with a cold tone that held him at an arm's length, though it was not unfriendly.

"Research has shown that it might have a link to the case." Chase replied, frustrated.

"Well I haven't, and I wouldn't. I love him." She got up; gave him a brisk nod. Chase would have believed her too, if he hadn't known any better.

"Very well. We'll talk soon." He sighed – House wouldn't be happy with his results.

* * *

After Chase had fled to the patient's room, Cameron had aimlessly started to wander the halls. She had nowhere to go and nowhere to be, so she took the time to drift and lose herself in thought. First, her attention was drawn to the fact Foreman and chase didn't trust her with her emotions. She didn't know if this angered her or relieved her. Defiant, and upset, she shook her head, annoyed at them. She could keep calm and control herself! Frustration welled up inside her, but it was quickly lost in the torrential torment of her emotions. But maybe they were right? She could be insanely quick at medical tests, but she was hopeless when it came to feelings. Her morals, ethics, and rules defined her, and they kept her in place a lot of the time; on the other hand, she was forced to venture out and attack her feelings alone and exposed. On the outside of her mind, no one would guess any of this, and even the humans that knew her well – such as the two mentioned above – didn't know how complex this was for her. Nor did they ever bother intensely with it – of course they sometimes prodded the surface, but they never broke through. It was rare someone could even wield their way through, and they never went very deep. Except for one man – House. This was what amazed Cameron: how he could read off almost nothing and know everything perfectly. In a strange way, his acknowledgement and wisdom of her made Cameron feel more protected and comforted, though it annoyed and flustered her as well. It was this, in the end, where growing feelings for him had flourished – the need for protection and understanding, as well as the chance to turn him around. For House, all this was much simpler; Cameron and her feelings were a giant puzzle. Maybe the anomaly was unexplainable, but that didn't stop him from trying. After all, he'd diagnosed the 'undiagnosable' before.

With this trail of thought, Cameron lazily pondered about House. Her concern – and curiosity – hadn't worn away the past weeks in the least. If anything, it grew with each passing day. There was no doubt in her mind that something had changed, as it was clear House was off his game. Distracted from cases, tired, easily giving up, more popping of the pills, apparently 'easier' to aggravate, and now the increased leg pain. Obviously, something was up. But _what?_

Cameron persisted, pursuing the possibilities. But there were hundreds– if not thousands – and she couldn't narrow them all without further information.

She stopped in at the office, wanting to sort out what she planned to do. So concentrated was she that she didn't notice House was there.

"Shouldn't you be questioning a patient?" His sudden speech made her jump.

"Shouldn't you be playing foosball with Wilson?" She snapped back, recovering and in no mood for this type of argument. He rose from his seat and ambled over, stopping in front of her.

"I'm avoiding him." He shrugged; the usual, "Why so bitchy? Is it that time of the month again?" House made a fake pouting face, trying to copy her expression.

The pent-up tension and anger flared up again, and she whirled away from him.

"Sounds like somebody missed their mess-around-with-Cuddy play date." She spat back at him. "Go mess with someone else, I don't feel like dealing with you."

Realization dawned on his face, "Ah. I see what the problem is here."

"I'm not in love with you," she sighed, "But do you? Because I don't and I'd really like to know."

"But you are, and, anyway, my guess is _you_ wanted to question the mother but Foreman and Chase doubted your control of emotion."

"Yes, they did." She admitted, plopping into a chair.

"They've worked here long enough; they should know when it's that time again?" He said, disgusted. "But you being all hormonal, you get offended and come complaining back to me. And then I have to waste _my _time. Yes, I'll have a word with them."

Too tired to answer or argue (or both), Cameron didn't respond. Smugly, House made his way over to the coffee, stumbling once again.

"I don't care what you say, you're not okay!" She said, getting up to help him. But he refused and shrugged her off, sliding a Vicodin into his mouth.

"I'm fine, and it's none of your business. For the last time." He growled, pouring himself coffee. Cameron shrugged indifferently, but she promised herself she'd find the answer, whatever it takes.

Just then Chase entered, and House turned his attention to him. Cameron sulked in the background, barely listening and paging Foreman.

"Please tell me you have something useful to say." House pleaded. "Oh, wait, that's too much to expect from you. How about something interesting, then?"

Chase didn't even bother reacting to the insult. "I have nothing." He reported flatly.

"Nothing?" echoed Cameron, now pleased House would get bored with her and focus all his annoying attention on Chase.

"Nothing!" Spat House. "I expect too much from the human race these days. Even a decapitated chicken is more useful then you! At least then I'd get a decent meal."

Chase rolled his eyes. "She denied and left before I could say much else."

"Useless." House snorted again. "Haven't I taught you anything? You could've pulled out a bunch of medical terms and lie to get a name!"

"I thought we were going about this in a non-destructive, semi-decent way?" Chase argued, and Foreman slipped in, sharing a glance with Cameron.

"Decent!" Roared House. "I don't care about them! And you apparently don't care about your job!" He glared furiously at Chase, and Chase met his gaze.

"You won't fire me." The young doctor stated, a hint of victory in his eyes.

"Not yet, at least." House snapped, turning to his other fellows. "Let me show you how this should be done."

"It should've been done by a paternity test ages ago!" Foreman spoke up.

"Listen up: to confirm Fabry disease completely we need an actual history of the real dad. We can avoid this mess if we simply test the biological father and not that annoying over-protective teddy bear of a husband." House explained. "And Cuddy most certainly won't let us treat without certainty."

This made sense, and House didn't wait before storming out of the office, his team scrambling behind him. Realization dawned on Cameron. "He's going soft," she whispered, meaning and understanding in her voice. A rush of affection flooded her – not so much romantic as it was proud that he was doing something right. She had to be the influence. As usual, they trailed him through the hospital corridor like ducklings, entering the patient's room.

"Mrs Cathridge, outside, now." He ordered, before facing Mr Cathridge. "And you don't say anything, because I have some very nasty secrets to share about you."

Surprise and fear flooded his face, and he opened his mouth to say something before clamping it shut. Distress, curiosity, and slight anger appeared on his wife's face, but it was unclear if the anger was directed at her husband or at the team. She was about to object when she realized the numbers: 4 doctors, demanding she come with them. This must be very serious. Sighing, she gave up and let herself be led outside.

House stopped abruptly, not even that far away. He rounded on his patient's mother, his team sliding into place beside him.

"Speak up." He barked. "Have you ever cheated on your husband? Slept with somebody else?"

Defiance and contempt flashed in her eyes. "Never."

House's eyes hardened and Cameron bristled at the lie. He continued.

"Really? Not even a decade or more ago? 12 years? So long ago it should be irrelevant?"

Alarm briefly flickered in her gaze. "No."

"You're lying." He hissed. "There will be grave consequences if you don't give us the truth."

"Are you threatening me?" She replied evenly.

"No. I'm telling the truth." He replied. "You don't have to answer if you, of course, want a dead daughter." Cameron flashed a surprised look at House. Fabry disease wasn't fatal!

Fear pulsed from the woman's being, choking her. It was a powerful tool, on the House knew could get him almost any answer.

"I thought you said it wasn't fatal?" She said, her voice strangled and wavering with uncertainty. She stared at the other team members, hopeful and expectant – filled with desperation. _He's done it; he's broken her defenses,_ thought Cameron, keeping her face blank to avoid revealing her own confusion. Chase and Foreman did the same, and she caught Chase's eyes.

_What's he doing?_ She thought, as if asking him the question. She could tell he was thinking the same. He held her gaze for a moment longer before glancing away.

"They lied. Your daughter has alpha-galactosidase A deficiency." Chase looked at him skeptically- that was just another name for Fabry disease. What game was e playing?

House ignored the questioning glances his team was shooting at him, focusing on the lady in front of him. He almost had her.

Her face paled, and she clearly didn't know it was the same disease worded differently. House dove in for the final blow.

"Are you going to kill your daughter to save your marriage? There's three other witnesses right here."

Still, Mrs Cathridge hesitated, glancing in between each doctor, searching for an escape. Trained well by House, the doctors in fellowship offered nothing, and she caved.

"Alright." She sighed. "The name's Steve Miller. Can you save Annie?" She added, sounding panicked. Cameron saw her chance to prove to everyone she could control herself. It was risky, but she'd take the chance.

"Of course," she replied, and Mrs Cathridge nodded gratefully before walking away from the group. If it was Fabry disease, Cameron's answer had been correct, but if House had diagnosed it was something else, her answer had a chance of being wrong. She looked at House for reassurance, but he gave none.

"You have your answer." He stated. "Go look him up."

"We got it through lies." Foreman muttered, loudly enough for House to hear.

"It wasn't all a lie – yes, she has Fabry disease; no, she won't die from it. I'm not _that_ mean." House defended himself sarcastically. He grimaced and popped a pill, rattling the empty bottle.

"That must've been your tenth today!" Cameron exclaimed, exaggerating slightly.

"I wish," house replied dryly. "I would be much more stoned if that were so."

"You'd be in cardiac arrest," Chase pointed out. "It's barely even noon!"

"You have a pill problem." Foreman muttered.

"No, I have a _pain_ problem." House answered. "Now go find this father and close this case."

* * *

The time, Cuddy was first at the café. She absentmindedly stirred her coffee, distracted. She had decided to not tell anyone about anything that had happened yesterday, pushing it to the furthest corner of her mind as she grieved. She could always do it again and start over, but for the time-being, she wallowed in her sorrow. In essence, she looked okay, only scrutinized by those who knew her well would notice her dark mood. Her normally perfectly curled, dark hair was still curled, but a little messy. Her shirt had the odd wrinkle, and despite the makeup, her eyes had bags under them. Not to mention her pretty eyes were also stormy and bleak. She was glad house hadn't bothered her yet today – out of all people, he'd be the first most likely to notice and then comment on her unusual appearance and mood. She just didn't feel like dealing with his direct, somehow unavoidable questions just yet.

She hadn't gone to see her doctor yet; her next appointment was in a few days and she hadn't bothered to reschedule it. She didn't see the point, and more importantly, dreaded the news the doctor would give her, whatever had went wrong.

Stacy entered the café, distracting Cuddy from her thoughts. She spotted her friend and made her way over, pulling out the chair in front of her.

"Hi." Cuddy offered a tired smile.

"Hello," Stacy sat down heavily, ordering a coffee. She turned back to her friend, noticing the wariness and exhaustion in Cuddy's tone and visibly in her face. She didn't ask, though, not wanting to mess around with her friend's personal issues – she had enough problems herself, as is. Besides, if it concerned House, Stacy was sure Cuddy would reveal it to her.

Stacy's coffee arrived quickly after, and she took a sip. This time, the liquid didn't burn her mouth. Satisfied, she sat her mug back down, noticing that Cuddy had also gotten coffee. She didn't break the silence, the air no longer awkward between the two women. Between her job, Mark, and House, she never got much silence or even quiet, so she relished the precious moments.

"So, it's in under a week," Cuddy started, referring to the test. "Are you nervous?"

Stacy fiddled with her spoon, shrugging, and stared at her mug. "Not really. More grateful."

Cuddy nodded quickly, transferring from friend to doctor, and offering the details and preparations. She grazed over the personal issues, making her explanations short, simple, and scientific.

"Do you have Hou-" Cuddy started, then reformulated her sentence, "-a possible biological father's blood?"

"Well, House did it, but right after this I'm off to the clinic with Mark to get his." Stacy replied, taking another sip.

Cuddy, surprised, looked at her. "You realize you only need one of their blood samples, right? Not both?" she asked gently, wondering when and how House had gotten the blood.

Stacy shrugged, making eye contact with the doctor. "I don't really trust House to give me his own blood. He most likely won't, considering the way he's been acting, pushing me away." She said, her voice straining to hide her misery.

Cuddy sat on this information, taking another sup of coffee. "He'll come around," she reassured, sounding like she was trying to convince herself.

"Then again, no one really knows anything about him," Stacy offered, showing a brief smile. "If 5 years taught me anything, it's not to dote too much on him. It's pointless worrying _what _he is going to do – it's _when_ he's going to do it."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Try being his boss." Some of the dark moods hanging over the two had lifted, allowing them a brief time to be smiling at their own dilemmas in an ironic sort of way.

Stacy laughed. "Oh yeah? Try to be his pregnant ex-girlfriend."

Cuddy shivered. "No, thanks." She said, remembering the time she'd almost asked him to be a sperm donor, now forever grateful she hadn't. This reminded her of last night's events, and once again she fell starkly into a foul mood. Stacy felt Cuddy's sudden drop in spirits and felt hers slide down as well.

"When will you tell Mark?" Cuddy changed the subject, her voice strained. Pain ripped through Stacy's heart and she briefly closed her eyes. She longed for him; to tell him everything, because he would understand, he would know what to do. He'd comfort her- be everything House couldn't. But she couldn't dare mention that name; it was unspoken of between them. There were too many complicated feeling with that simple name, and these feelings were so strong they'd easily rip apart what was remaining of their relationship. Stacy sighed. Like everything he touched, House had left a permanent scar. Sometimes, she wondered if this was a curse or a gift. Either way, it was this that had started her and Mark's slow alienation. Now, it seemed with everything this rift grew longer and longer. There was only one thing that disabled her and Mark _truly _living happily and with trust, and it was that mark House had left. It's what Stacy loved about House – how nothing separated them but the cold, blunt truth. And though she admitted she'd never stop loving Mark, she couldn't get House off her mind. He really wasn't prominent there in a romantic way – more like a tick, an annoying invisible nuisance that took too much effort to remove and evaded your best efforts. Even though House was pushing her away, it truthfully made Stacy think of him more – and feel guilt-ridden every time she turned to Mark.

If it was Mark's baby, her path and future would be easier and simple. It would, of course, sting when she broke contact with House again – this time, probably forever – but she'd moved on. She could live without him; after all, she'd done it before. Life would be comforting and stress-free – and she'd be happy. A big part of her longed for this life, and the same part made her heart ache every time she was reminded of hiding the truth from her husband.

Yet one, small, nearly insignificant part of her screamed its protest; constantly nagging at her conscience. It was the result o house's mark on her – a big, flaring scar, probably the largest of them all. Tiny wrinkles spread from it – some, when probed, released memories of romance and pleasure; causing goosebumps to race down her spine. Others stung and released incredible amounts of painful memories. If House's blood tested positive – considering he gave her his blood – well, Stacy felt nauseous. That road would positively be bumpy, harsh, cruel, painful – and still, this little part of her wanted it. Admittedly, she loved House more, but this was drastic – this was doomed. Those three words made her shudder; their foreboding tone resonated in her thoughts.

Maybe, though, there was some light in that path. Once through the rough times, and after a lot of coaxing (and help by Wilson), he would come out of his shell, and accept his future responsibilities. This could maybe even change House for the better – that being very small chance - yet a chance nonetheless.

Among the strife, there would surely be some nice moments for her and House, Stacy hoped. She missed curious things about House – the way he always forgot about his toast in the toaster, or how he never had a coffee until after ten in the morning. There were more delicate and desired things she missed too: the prickle of his stubble against her lips, the ruffling of his hair with her hand, the grasp of his strong, steadying hands, but mostly, the vulnerability, certainty, and desire in those deep soulful blue eyes as he whispered 'I love you'.

Though Stacy seriously doubted she would hear those last three words anytime soon. With the way he ignored her, the hope of before seemed like a lost cause. Deep down, she knew it was him feebly trying to protect himself, and that it hurt him (yet she didn't know how much), but it still didn't soothe her own suffering.

Cuddy watched as Stacy contemplated each thought. Her reactions varied with her train of thought, and she studied each one thoroughly. They varied immensely, from bliss to ache and from longing to pain. She waited patiently for her friend and patient to answer, vaguely wondering if she'd asked too soon or too abruptly. What she'd pay to see Stacy's current thoughts, yet she respected her obviously private emotions and memories.

_Now, for the actual matter,_ Stacy grimly thought. When would she tell Mark? More importantly, why was she so hesitant to? Undoubtedly, she'd tell him after the test. Whether or not it was gleefully telling him she was expecting of abruptly filing for a divorce was the only variable.

"After the test," Stay finally answered, and Cuddy nodded. They then sat again in silence, each surrounded in an invisible fog of thoughtfulness. Cuddy sipped absentmindedly at the last of her coffee, stressing over work. Stacy remained secluded and separated, still fighting in the raging war between her feelings for her husband and her feeling for her ex-boyfriend – not exactly sure what side she was fighting for. A lot of her now easily-escaping energy was spent demystifying this war.

Stacy finished her coffee and glanced at her watch. She should probably be going soon to meet Mark and go to the clinic with him (certainly not Princeton-Plainsboro's). It appeared nothing else had to be said here, anyway. She rose from her seat.

This stirred Cuddy from her thoughts and she smiled at Stacy.

"I better get going – have to go get blood work done with Mark," Stacy explained apologetically, though her voice was flat.

"I understand," Cuddy answered, also getting up and stretching her legs. "I should probably get back to work." And deal with House, she thought, but didn't mention it aloud. Once both women had struggled on their jackets and scarves (in Cuddy's case), they faced each other.

"Well, see you in a week," Cuddy bid her farewell, and Stacy nodded.

"Thank God," She added, but Cuddy didn't respond as she paid her bill and left. Stacy fished out her wallet and paid her own, before taking a deep breath and venturing outside.

It was a long drive, but Stacy didn't mind constantly going back and forth. Regretfully, she admitted it allowed her an escape, from both worlds. And Cuddy was always comforting and reassuring; Stacy looked forward to their meetings and conversations. Stacy pulled out of the parking lot, flipped on the radio, and sat back for the ride home.

A little later, Stacy pulled into the driveway of her and Mark's home. She'd taken time off work until the test – which her husband did not know. Guiltily, she added that to the list of lies spilling out of her mouth and into her husband's believing ears.

The door was open, and Stacy entered the warm household. Normally, she'd announce her arrival, but lately she didn't feel the need to. Ever since the affair, Mark had been on her like fleas to a dog (and to the same level of annoyance). Stacy was amazed he had still not found out about any of it yet.

"Hey babe," He greeted as he limped into the entrance way. _Just like House after his operation, _Stacy thought. Of course this brought up memories of her therefore leaving House. She quickly pushed the thoughts away, forcing herself to smile.

"Hi," She whispered, approaching him, feeling empty. Before, she had loved this reunion at the end of the day, but ever since the affair, there seemed to be something missing from it. She was now barely a finger away from him, and she studied his lips, playfully dancing around him. Something bloomed in her chest, and her smile wasn't forced anymore. "How was work?"

He smiled, avoiding her gaze, wrapping his arms around her. Stacy shuddered in content as he touched her, a sudden desire clouding her gaze. She closed her eyes in bliss. This was how she'd always felt around Mark, and she'd missed it. But once her eyes opened, she felt disappointed. She studied his smile – there was _something_ missing. She couldn't put her finger on it, though. There was no doubt he still loved her, but his smile was reserved, and there was a forlorn look in his eyes. Her heart dove, filling with grief, and it was times like these Baltimore _did_ seem like a mistake.

He shrugged. "It was okay," he said blandly. He had just gotten back to working again. "For you?"

Guilt engulfed Stacy. "Same," she lied before pressing closer to him, longing for his familiar warmth. He held her but offered nothing more. She took in a shaky lip and bit her lip, pain tearing at her heart.

"We better get going to that appointment," Mark said, breaking away. She nodded, turning around, her silence saying it all. She was opening the door when a strong hand grasped her wrist.

"Stacy?" Mark asked quietly. Tears threatened to overcome her if she spoke, so Stacy let him turn her around, feeling numb.

"Hey," he said softly, wiping a heavy thumb across her cheek. Her vision blurred as she put all her energy into holding back the tears. She stiffened as his lips met hers. Now _that_ was not what she had been expecting. She relaxed and let him lead, blindly following him. He started gently, and then grew more fierce and intense. He explored her mouth like it was the first time, imploring her permission. Much familiar to the blossoming feeling of before, she felt her sense grow more attentive; she felt like she was walking out of hibernation. She felt _alive._

It was the first kiss they'd shared in awhile that made her feel like this. She relished it, treasured it, let the moments tick by. She matched his level of intensity easily, occasionally sighing into his mouth.

When they finally broke apart, silence swirled around them for only a few seconds. Still stunned, Stacy felt him wrap around her.

"I love you," He breathed into her ear. She shuddered, grasping onto his arms like her life depended on it.

"I know," she answered, and it finally felt like after all these months, she'd finally been forgiven. _But wasn't it maybe too late?_ She pushed the thought away.

'_I know.' _It echoed in her head, and, for some reason, she felt her heart slowly break.

* * *

They spent the car ride to the local clinic in silence. Stacy drove, Mark not yet well enough to (though he claimed he was). She trained her mind to go on auto-pilot, thinking of nothing except the road that lay in front of her.

The kiss greatly disturbed and unsettled Stacy – curiously, as it was all she'd ever wanted in the past months. The hours she had spent worrying and fretting over this apology, and now that she'd received it, it seemed like some kind of cruel ironic joke.

The waiting room remained silent between them still. Stacy crossed her legs; lips pressed in a firm line, and read a newspaper. She found herself rereading the same paragraph over and over, her concentration elsewhere. She was painfully aware of Mark next to her, sitting still and quietly fiddling with his thumbs. Blocking all thoughts from her mind and all feelings from her heart, she shifted so that their arms brushed. She gently slid a hand onto his knee, a gesture of acceptance and reassurance. After a second of surprise, he clasped his hand over hers. He rubbed his warm fingers across the back of her hand, toying gently with her wedding ring. Her heart sped up, and she forced herself to stay composed.

"Mr Warner?" A doctor called, and Stacy helped Mark up even though he refused. Together, they made their way over and followed their doctor into his exam room.

"So you're here for a check-up and a follow-up after an exploratory surgery," Dr Biller clarified once everyone had settled down into a chair.

"Yes," Mark clarified, and Stacy nodded absentmindedly. She'd gone to every single appointment with Mark so far.

"Alright, so, Mark Warner, age 45, let's check your height and weight..." He noted down the results.

"A few months ago you were diagnosed with acute intermittent porphyria after an exploratory surgery ordered by Dr Gregory House at Princeton-Plainsboro," The doctor read the file, oblivious to the wince the name Gregory House provoked in Stacy and the flash of pure hatred in Mark's eyes. "Can I see the incision please?"

Mark nodded silently, lifting himself onto the table with the help of Dr Biller and slightly of Stacy. He lifted his shirt to reveal a nasty scar stretching across his abdomen. Stacy winced again – the wound was a quick reminder of all that had happened in the past months.

Dr Biller, not knowing any of the personal issues behind the matter, prodded the mark carefully. After a few minutes of precarious studying, he announced, "looks like it's healing well. You'll feel fine in no time."Stacy exhaled in relief, not even realizing she'd been holding her breath. Mark brightened and grinned at her, and she didn't have trouble smiling back.

"Now just a few questions about the surgery and the rehabilitation afterwards. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"No." _Unlike me,_ Stacy remarked.

"Are you having trouble eating, or is there pain afterwards?"

Mark shrugged again. "Nope."

"Any bowel movement issues, bloody urine, or pain?"

"No."

The doctor nodded, absorbing this information. "Good. I'm going to check your breathing." He firmly placed his stethoscope on Mark's chest and listened as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. The doctor then pressed it against his upper back.

"Any pain or shortness of breath?"

"Only at physio."

"That's normal." He responded, unconcerned. "With a series of quick, fluid movements, Dr Biller had an arm cuff wrapped around Marks' arm and was checking his pulse.

"Normal. Is the pain medication effective?"

"Mostly."

"Any nausea?"

"Not usually."

"Abnormal bleeding?"

Mark shook his head. The doctor nodded. "You seem to be recovering just fine. Is physio going well?"

"Yes. Just started to wean off the cane."

"And back to work?"

"Unfortunately."

"No recent drug use?"

"Of course not." Dr Biller nodded at his answer and observed the file before looking up at Mark and Stacy's expectant faces.

"Seems like everything's recovering well. Just going to take a blood sample and need a urine sample, and we're done."

Twenty minutes later found them outside, blinking in the sunlight. Happily, Mark stopped Stacy in the parking lot and gave her a short kiss. She grinned back.

"This is great news! Let's celebrate; a toast to tomorrow!" He joyfully exclaimed, pulling her close. Stacy searched his happy eyes, feeling relieved and gleeful herself.

"Sure. Let's go to a restaurant," she replied. "I just have to make one call – it's for work." Even her dirty work didn't get her too down right now. Mark nodded and headed towards their car, whistling. Stacy briefly watched him go before turning away and dialing Cuddy.

"Lisa Cuddy," Cuddy answered on the third ring. "How can I help you?" She sounded tired.

"Hey Lisa, it's Stacy."

"Oh, hi. How'd it go?" Her tone picked up a bit.

"Good. They took a blood sample, can you get it?"

Cuddy hesitated a second. "I'll try."

Gratitude flooded Stacy. "Thank you, I owe you one. I have to go though – thanks again – see you next week."

"My pleasure. Talk to you soon." Cuddy flipped the cell shut as House slid into her office.

_Great, _thought Cuddy. She'd been avoiding him all day – and had just been starting to hope he'd not come today. Apparently, the odds were never in her favor.

"My leg; I need another –" House stopped abruptly, staring at her. There was something off – he noticed this immediately. He squinted, trying to scrutinize her closer. Cuddy subconsciously tried to keep her eyes and mannerisms calm, allowing him to study her. She didn't know why, she'd been dreading this moment all day, but the thought of someone analyzing – _caring_ – enough to notice what was wrong and incessantly demand an answer comforted her in a strange sense.

House noticed a few things right off the bat – the untidy hair and ruffled clothing for instance. The longer he stared at her, the more was revealed to him. The bags under her eyes were faintly noticeable under all the makeup she'd tried to hide it under. At first, House brushed it off, after all, she was the head of the hospital, and being Cuddy, he guessed she had more sleepless nights than he could count. The thing that set him off was the fact she was trying to hide them. Their eyes met and House dove further into the mystery, but Cuddy kept her gaze guarded. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but she pointedly ignored it.

During this time, Cuddy had observed him too – it didn't take her long to find out he was in pain. Much like yesterday, his eyes were slightly blood-shot and sweat shined off his glistening forehead. His movements were stiff, and every so often his gaze clouded with agony.

"I'll get the morphine," she said, breaking their eyes contact as she walked by him. He refused to let her pass though, forcing her to look at him briefly before looking away again. She knew he knew something was wrong, and she braced herself for the questions and comments.

"Red eyes... Suggests either you stayed up all night snorting cocaine, humping some lucky guy real hard, or crying into your pillow as you fell asleep."

She didn't answer, pain flashing briefly in her downcast eyes at the last few words.

He continued. "The bags under your eyes suggest a sleepless night, which means any of the above, but the fact I know you haven't been seeing anyone limits it to a drug crash or bawling out your eyes."

She closed her eyes, hating these long minutes, but thankful he hadn't mentioned that he knew because she was trying – tried – in vitro. She felt too lifeless and tired to bother arguing, and if she did say something, he'd probably find a way to psycho-analyze that.

"The slightly untidy hair still means either or," he rambled on, "but the wrinkled clothing is a sign you just didn't care enough this morning to iron it. So cried into your pillow all night long it is," He concluded indifferently.

Still Cuddy persisted in her silence, not giving House any leads.

"What's wrong?" He asked, a bit more softly.

"Nothing," She lied, once again trying to brush by him. He stood firmly before her, a towering giant of 6 foot 2.

"That's what they all say. But the symptoms say otherwise. Are you going to tell me, or will I have to find out?" He pressed.

"There's nothing _to_ find out." She snapped. "Why do you care anyway?" Immediately, she regretted saying that.

"I don't really. It's an anomaly." _Of course he doesn't care,_ Cuddy thought miserably, she'd been stupid to think he actually _did_. "Unless, of course, sympathy got me in your pants." He added.

"Well it won't. Do you want the morphine or not?" She quickly changed the subject. A weird expression overtook his face – indecisive if he should carry on or deal with his pain and let it be. After a moment's hesitation he nodded and allowed her to pass. Cuddy sighed in relief – she'd escaped this time. _Pain always wins, _she remarked darkly, pushing away the thought that maybe he was doing this for her sake more than his. _Gregory House didn't care about anyone except himself,_ she reminded herself. _How long will it take you to realize this?_

Without speaking, she singled out morphine shot and gave it to him, watching as he slumped with relief. After a few long minutes sitting motionless on her couch, his eyes flickered open to meet hers. Not a word was spoken as Cuddy assured he wasn't going to get any more answers from her. With a slight acknowledging nod, he rose to his feet, and shuffled out of her office. Cuddy returned behind her desk and propped up her elbows, resting her head in both hands, her world going black as she closed her eyes and sighed.

* * *

Cameron took a quick glance around before sliding into the dark hallway. Blindly, she felt around on the left wall for a door. She knew it was here _somewhere_ – her heart started to beat faster the more it took. Just a little farther, she thought, eyes blazing with determination as she pushed forward into the dark. Her fingers felt a slight indentation on the wall – she'd found her prize.

Fumbling with the key she had 'borrowed' from Wilson's office, Cameron slipped it into the lock and twisted. The mechanism unlocked with a satisfying sound, and she slid into the townhouse.

Unlike the original door, it didn't take her long at all to find the light switch. Light ripple through the air and illuminated the space House called home. She stared around, blinking, for a bit – she'd never been inside his apartment before. She noted the leather couch and the TV seemed to be the most used area – magazines, case files, and textbooks all mixed together were stranded on the coffee table, and a few neglected pieces of popcorn doted the couch.

She also spotted the guitars and grand piano in the corner. Their surfaces were shiny and spotless; House clearly cared for his music and his instruments. Steve Mc Queen sucked water loudly from the bottle in his cage, answering Cameron's questioning gaze with a few high pitched squeaks as he shot off, scrambling about.

She reminded herself of her business here, and that the faster it was finished, the better. She'd come to solve the mystery behind her boss' odd behaviour – and she wasn't going to leave without an answer.

But where should she look? Everything appeared normal ad House-like. If she wanted answers, it was evident she was going to have to dig deep for them.

The first thing she decided to do was skim through the papers piled around his couch. Finding a few interesting reads – but noting useful – she precariously replaced the sheets. Frowning, she contemplated her next move.

There wasn't going to be anything in the kitchen or the bathroom, and she seriously doubted the bedroom. She looked around the big space, her eyes falling onto his computer.

She hesitated, her morality screaming at her to stop. Going through his laptop was a huge violation of privacy. Then again, he never respected her privacy, and she hadn't come here to leave with nothing. She'd already broken into his house – why not go a bit further? Tentatively, she opened the laptop and blinked at the screen. Password needed – she scowled. Thinking for a minute, she typed in _Myfavouritehooker. _Denied. She ransacked her brain – maybe _IloveSteveMcQueen_? Then it came to her and she quickly typed in _Cuddysassrules _– she looked on smugly as the screen loaded.

Once in, she traced the mouse over the shortcuts. Where to? There was so much to cover – she'd have to pick and choose. Passing briefly through any files or documents that had rather interesting names, her impatience mounted when nothing turned up. Desperately, she went on the internet and manoeuvred over to his bookmarks. _His messily organized bookmarks,_ she observed. How could he find anything? Medical research sites were tangled with porn sites, eBay among the tax returns and such. She scrolled down quickly, skimming over every odd site she found. She smiled slightly when she saw a few rat-pet-keeping files, conscious of the low rumbling sounds of Steve McQueen behind her. Nearly giving up, she saw something that caught her eye – biological testing information. She frowned – the last DNA testing case they'd had had been months ago, excluding this last one. On top of that, biological testing wasn't something House would need to research. She clicked on the file.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the folder's contents. A dozen or so pages of prenatal paternity testing flashed. Utterly confused, she manoeuvred over each one. Why on Earth would House have this? It didn't make sense. They'd never had a case like this. Cameron's eyes slowly widened even more as an idea crossed her mind._ No... No way..._ She thought, pushing away the thought_. But who?_ She wondered. Maybe it wasn't House, maybe it was Wilson? That made sense. _Still, who's the mother then?_ She thought. Intrigued, she continued staring at the screen in deep thought.

Thus, when the phone rang, Cameron nearly shot through the roof. With wide eyes and a stampeding heart, she remained motionless. Taking deep breaths and calming down, she warily – but curiously – eyed the phone, tense, as if it would suddenly change into a snarling beast.

An anxious silence deadened as the ringing stopped. Then, with a promising tick, House's answering machine clicked on.

"House." The recording was gruff and unfriendly. "I don't care. If you're Wilson, I'm fine. If you're Cuddy... I still don't care. If you're the team, I still _really_ don't care. Hence why I didn't pick up the phone the first time."

Cameron strained her ears, her very being there and disrupting his privacy – as she'd preached not to do so many times – causing her mind to nag that this was none of her business. That she shouldn't hear this phone call.

The beep sounded, and Cameron held her breath, as if whoever was calling could hear her. Terrified, she stared on. First the sounds of breathing were recorded. Cameron frowned – irregular breathing.

"It's me. Just wanted to talk. Like normal people do." Annoyance tinted the voice.

Cameron blinked.

_Stacy!_

* * *

When Cameron got back to the hospital, her mind was brimming with questions. Stuck in her thoughts, she didn't notice when she nearly collided with someone.

"Oh, sorry," Cameron apologized, offering an arm to steady whoever it was. Recognition flooded her eyes as she met Mrs Cathridge's distraught face. The woman's eyes were disturbingly terrified.

"Please, Doctor Cameron, tell us what's wrong!" She murmured, still clutching Cameron's eyes. Shocked, Cameron let herself be led towards the elevator. Still in surprise, she soon after found herself standing in front of Annie Cathridge. Big brown eyes stared at her fearfully under the blond bangs. Her jaw characteristically dropped a few centimetres as she avoided panic and stared around, wondering what she should do.

"What's wrong with me?" The fear-stricken child quietly demanded of her. Cameron's heart wrenched as she met the kid's eyes.

"I... uh..." She stuttered, glancing frantically around. She found House staring at her. She took the time to analyze her boss. He stood ominously still, statue-like, watching her; challenging her. She searched his eyes for an answer, but they were masked. He kept his eyes trained on hers and didn't move, his body hunched over his cane and his head tilted downwards. She saw it then. It was either he suggested it was up to her or he was testing her.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Frustrated tears met her eyes as she turned away from House. The voice was brimming with strained anger. "Why won't you just tell us?"

Cameron took another deep breath. "If you really want to know... Your daughter has Fabry disease." She looked at each pair of eyes, none of them recognizing the name for a minute or so.

"Wait... Isn't that what you first said she had?" A confused Mr Cathridge asked.

"Yes. It's what she had all along."

Even more puzzlement greeted her from this man. Out of the corner of her eye, Cameron saw Mrs Cathridge swallow uncomfortably.

"Alright. So what's the problem?" he demanded, getting rather anxious.

"Fabry disease is genetic."

"And?"

"Neither of you tested positive." Cameron didn't say anything else as this news sank in. She eyed the husband's reaction, noticing his jaw set in denial and his pupils flare with disbelief and distrust.

"Maybe we should take this outside," Mrs Cathridge said quietly, her tone adding to the apocalyptic feel of the room. Her husband gave her a look, almost disagreeing for the sake of it. Cameron shot an awkward glance in House's direction, but the narcissistic doctor had left. She turned back to a hysterical pair of Cathridge's.

"Are you saying that's not my daughter?" He demanded of his wife, who had tears brimming in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Nikolas, honestly..." She begged with him, but he was having none of it. Cameron watched on hopelessly.

"I can't believe this." He spat, eyes still wide, and wheeled around. The two women watched him stomp off. Mrs Cathridge turned desperately to Cameron.

"I... I'm sorry," a bewildered Cameron muttered, overwhelmed with a thousand thoughts. One managed to stand out, though, among the buzz: _House... Talk to House._ She whirled away and rushed off, still confused over what the hell she'd just done.

* * *

Finding pleasure in Cuddy's rear end as his boss made her way into her office, House followed her closely. She sighed in an exasperated fashion.

"Only threats uttered to you patient this time," She sat behind the paperwork piled on her desk. "But 30 complaints in the clinic in the past week?" She looked at him, eyes raised demanding an answer.

He limped up to the desk. "I think that's a new record." He gloated. She glared.

"House. You can't unleash al your anger about your personal life on your patients like that."

"I'm pretty sure it was their lives I was screwing with."

"I can't have you doing that."

"What are you going to do? Fire me?" He sneered.

"No, but I can stop the Vicodin."

House paused, seeing if she was serious. "You wouldn't, because I wouldn't be able to treat."

She shrugged. "I'd give you leave to stay at home." Cuddy had complete dominance now, as she put him in a vulnerable spot. She softened her voice a bit. "You have to clean up your act."

"No, I don't." Rage blinded him. A hate towards change, towards his delicateness, towards his fear found its way into his voice. "What's wrong with all of you? I'm fine, and I sure as hell don't need your pity! Leave me alone!" He stomped his cane angrily, outrage visible in his eyes.

"You're not fine." She stated. House rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Been gossiping with Wilson again?"

"We care about you!"

"Then stop pitying me and let me live my life!"

"What quality of life do you have?! You're depressed, addicted, constantly in pain... If you don't take advantage of an opportunity to make your life better, we'll have to!"

He turned on her, his movements stiff with frustration. "And how's your life, Cuddy? What ups do you have? No man, no kids..."

"This isn't about me! Stop deflecting." She brushed him off.

"You wake up every day and come to work to take your mind off of your non-existent personal life..." His voice was full of menace. She shot him a glance, demanding him to stop.

"And now you're desperately trying to believe your life at the hospital is good and fulfilling, so that if you fail at the other important things in life, you have something to fall back on, to believe has meaning..."

"Stop." She pleaded quietly. His rant was blind now, all his rage venting out. It felt so good.

"But you're starting to lose your grip because it turns out you're missing out on something you so badly need..."

She didn't speak, fearing what would come out of her mouth if she did. She was terrified she'd break down then, completely lose it.

"But a little part of you is terrified of what you so badly need. So don't you _dare_ come tell me to change _my_ life, when yours is just as bad as mine!" He panted, studying her face. Cuddy choked on her grief, avoiding his eyes. He felt powerful now, almighty, and dealing misery onto her had felt so emptily fulfilling. Salty tears had started running down Cuddy's cheeks, snapping house back to reality of what he'd just done. He'd opened up fresh wounds, unleashed her darkest fears, in an attempt to feel in control of something in his life. Shock registered in his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, but his jaw locked as he watched his boss break down in front of him.

Somberly, Cuddy told her tale, remorse and resentment in her voice. "Fine. I had an implantation and lost the baby. _Happy?"_

His eyes fell. He really hadn't meant to do that. The irony of it all hit him, but he masked his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." She could taste the saltiness of her tears on her tongue. He didn't reply.

She dried her tears. "I just wanted to say to not hide yourself behind Vicodin and sarcasm and alcohol. Talk to someone, maybe not Wilson or me, but someone. If you even care anymore." She said sourly. He nodded, but it was false, as they both knew that wasn't going to happen. Silence swirled around them for a few minutes. He popped a Vicodin, messaging his leg.

"Anything else, mom?"

"Get out." She ordered, voice cold.

* * *

"House!" An exclamation sounded from down the hall, and House snapped his fingers.

"So close."

Wilson ran up. "I've been looking for you all day!"

"Oh, my God," House flipped his wrist, making his voice mockingly high-pitched. "You know that nurse in hematology? Did you hear what she did? She's like, such a slut!"

Wilson sighed. "We need to talk."

"Nothing to talk about." He abruptly turned back to the glass walls to watch the patient. Tension sparked between husband and wife. She sat near her daughter, looking nervous and stressed. Her hair was ruffled, probably from anxiously combing through it every other moment. Her whole expression seemed like she just wanted to break down and cry but she forced herself to stay unhappily composed. Her husband was in the opposite corner and as far away as possible from his wife and who he thought had been his daughter. He seemed deep in thought and in shock, equally as wrecked, twisting his marriage ring as he stared off into space.

Wilson followed house's gaze to them, and he watched as well. "Cuddy called. What the hell did you say? She sounded heartbroken and wrecked."

House tilted his head back and popped a Vicodin. "I told her I thought she would look splendid with nothing on."

"I'm sure that's what made her burst into tears." Wilson replied sarcastically.

"...When she's not pregnant. I already know she went running to you sobbing afterwards and told you everything so you could come lecture me, and I'm here to say I will not listen to it because we have nothing to talk about."

"Because you being unnaturally cruel to one of a handful of people that actually give a crap about you isn't something worth discussing."" He shrugged.

"See, this is why I avoided you all day. Words hurt, you know."

"It's not like avoiding me is an issue, either."

"God no."

They turned back to the scene. It appeared that an argument was broiling under the surface, as both Cathridges stared at each other, full of tension.

"I know your plan." Wilson started. "You've resorted to holding all of us at an arm's length and close off your connections so that nothing can ever affect you, and everything bad will go away."

"Here we go..." house sighed, still firmly watching the drama.

"And so you think that by assuring resentment from those who used to care about you will close off any possible way of anything hurting you that's unexpected because you can live with that misery you caused."

"He's going in for the final kill..." House responded.

"But your reasoning is _flawed_, House, because you're terrified of being alone. You need us, because you're _not _okay."

The door of the room flew open and out came a pissed off Mr Cathridge, his wife pleading desperately as she tried to reason with him.

"And the dreaded talk." House spun around to watch them go, before turning to Wilson. "Oh, sorry, were you saying something?" He asked innocently. Wilson sighed and turned back to look at the baffled children left behind, his soft heart reaching out for them.

"You have that look on your face. The sympathetic, signature you're-dying-I'm-so-sorry oncology look." House observed.

"The parents are trying to hide this from them, protect them, but they probably already know what's happening. They're' not invisible."

House rolled his eyes before turning solemn. "That's what happens when a paternity test goes wrong."

Wilson shook his head. "No, this is just a mistake gone wrong." He didn't say anything else as he casted House a meaningful glance before his pager went off and he left. House looked at the floor after Wilson had left, thinking about his advice. Pain flashed in his eyes and he took a steadying breath, his hand automatically reaching for his thigh. He hobbled to the nearest bench and collapsed on it. His breathing became intensely laboured and he tilted his head back. Hospital life bustled about obliviously. Closing his eyes, his hand slipped into his pocket and curled around the latest Vicodin bottle. He shook it gently; almost empty. He released a quiet, pained moan as he sneaked the narcotic between his lips. Stress and pain flashed across his face, forcing his eyes to open and blink wearily. Exhaustion flooded through his blood, causing his mind to cloud over. The Vicodin also helped dull everything to numbness, so he couldn't think nor react, and it was one of the most soothing moments of the day. He slumped forward and let his forehead rest on the wooden handle of his cane.

He felt the weight of the bench shift as someone sat down. Irritation pricked under his skin. He opened one slit eye to observe the intruder. He opened his mouth to make a snide comment when he noticed that it was Cameron.

"Oh God, not you too..."

She took a sip of coffee, staring at the patient's room.

"So how'd it go?"

"She did this thing with her hips-"

"I meant the patient." She glanced at him. He continued to gently massage his leg.

"Fallout. They stormed out."

Cameron nodded, wrapping her fingers pensively around her cup. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"You totally destroyed their lives."

"But they were living a lie! Surely knowing the truth is better?"

"Ignorance is bliss." He said, grinding his teeth against a shot of pain. Despite his best efforts, though, a ragged little cry squeezed through. Cameron's eyes flickered with immediate concern. She shuffled closer to him. He eyed her warily through the pain, and she studied his eyes, asking for his trust. She then looked away and taking hold of his leg, gently.

House, startled, shied away from her touch. "Hey, what are you-"

"Stop squirming." She firmly demanded, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he remained still. She took his thigh in both hands, feeling his stiffen, and started to gently massage his leg. Still apprehensive, he watched her for a bit, before succumbing to her touch and starting to relax.

"I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do." She said abruptly as she worked.

"But if they could've lived happily without ever knowing the truth instead of miserably with the truth, wouldn't it have been better?" He closed his eyes in contentment.

"The truth would come out eventually. The only thing is that we all strive to find the truth and to do the right thing, but what's the point if we're not happy?"

"The point is that we found the right answer. It's fulfilling."

"You don't believe that. I mean, solving every little puzzle left you where? Miserable and alone."

"You have the same problem. Where do you think fixing the unfixable is going to get you?"

She ignored him. "How's that?" She referred to his leg.

"Better, but not fixed." He said pointedly.

She moved away from him. "You're welcome."

They sat in silence for awhile longer.

"I know you're not okay." She offered. His gaze turned cold; his movements stiff.

"I'm fine."He got up and walked out into the night.


End file.
